


So Glad I Found You

by LenoreFrost



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Army, Awesome Darcy Lewis, Awesome Howling Commandos, BAMF Bucky Barnes, BAMF Darcy Lewis, Bathtubs, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Body Image, Brock Rumlow is an asshole, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes is a Fantastic Kisser, Consent Issues, Creepy Brock Rumlow, Darcy Lewis's Taser, Depression, Dogs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flirting, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Homeless Bucky Barnes, Homelessness, Hugs, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, M/M, Making Out, Murder Hipster Peter Parker, Oral Sex, POV Bucky Barnes, POV Darcy Lewis, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Pitbulls, Protective Bucky Barnes, Recovery, Revenge is the gift that keeps on giving, Scientist Wrangler Darcy Lewis, Sexual Humor, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Smut, Snipers, Starvation, Suicidal Thoughts, Tasers, Therapy, Touch-Starved, Veterans, War Veteran Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:34:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 106,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25928953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LenoreFrost/pseuds/LenoreFrost
Summary: Bucky is at the very end of his rope, or at least he would be if he had a rope.  He doesn't actually have anything but the clothes on his back and he's about an hour away from either starving or freezing to death and, seeing as it was his boyfriend who left him on the streets because he was too messed-up to bother with, that's probably just fine.Finding a guy almost dead in an alley is NOT fine in Darcy's book, especially when that guy is a freaking veteran and the freaking nicest guy ever and when he was abandoned by his freaking asshole boyfriend.  Nope, not fine at all.  Jane is going to lecture her so hard about how this guy isn't a puppy, he's a strange man who might shank her...but those baby blues are the sweetest puppy-dog eyes Darcy has ever seen, so yeah, she's bringing this guy home, throwing him in her tub to warm him up, feeding him, and snuggling him for days.  And if he needs her to give him a sponge bath or share body heat or tase his ex or...well, just about anything...yeah, that is TOTALLY fine.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis & Howling Commandos, James "Bucky" Barnes & Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes & Howling Commandos, James "Bucky" Barnes & Peter Parker, James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Brock Rumlow, James "Bucky" Barnes/Darcy Lewis, Jane Foster & Darcy Lewis
Comments: 610
Kudos: 643





	1. In From the Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know I have too many WIPs and I'm sorry. I can't help it.

It was cold out. Really fucking cold. It was cold, he didn’t have a decent coat or his pain meds or his wallet, and he was debating whether the walk to the bridge would be worth it so he could jump and end things quickly versus the slow death he was facing now.

It was his own fucking fault, too. He should have seen it coming, should have known better, should have stopped it before it got so bad. He believed a lot of the horrible things Brock had said to him, that was how it had gotten this far, but he knew he didn’t deserve to be on the street and certainly not in January. But there had been no alternative and that part was his fault. He’d been so fucked up since Afghanistan and all Walter Reed had done for him was patch him back together like Frankenstein’s monster. Of course, he’d moved in with his boyfriend who had always been a dick but had stayed with him through his deployment and hospitalization. Of course, he hadn’t cared enough to ask Brock to put him on the lease since he couldn’t have paid rent anyway without a job. Of course, he hadn’t worried about trying to reopen his credit cards. Of course, he hadn’t been in the habit of carrying his key or his phone because he was too depressed to leave the fucking apartment.

So yeah, when Brock had beat the shit out of him, again, and said he was sorry, again, of course he’d trusted him to drive him to the ER. Instead, he’d been dropped bleeding in an alleyway halfway across the city with no phone, no key, no wallet, and no meds. All he’d had were the clothes on his back, the shoes on his feet, and Brock’s words ringing in his ears. Y _ou’re not fucking worth it, you useless piece of trash_.

That was over a week ago. Now, the bruising was going down, but the open wounds were infected. Now, he had even more bruises from getting the crap kicked out of him by other desperate people who saw him as vulnerable and thought he might have anything worth stealing. Now, he’d gotten past the point of vomiting bile because his stomach was so empty and had just settled for not moving because his insides couldn’t take it. Now, he looked like he’d been out here a month instead of a week with the way he smelled and the beard that had grown in jagged on his cut-up face and the shadows under his eyes. Now, he’d had a migraine for three days from the hunger and dehydration and lack of sleep and pain rippling up from his arm and he couldn’t see straight. Now, he’d given up on begging for cash to buy water, food, disinfectant for the wounds, fucking ibuprofen, because the people who walked by would just look at him in fear or disgust and keep walking. Now, he was shivering so bad his muscles ached from it and his teeth were chattering so hard they were aching too, and it was only eleven at night, plenty of time for the temperature to drop another ten degrees or more.

The only thing stopping him from that walk to the bridge was that he didn’t have the strength to drag himself there.

Footsteps. High-heeled ones. And an exasperated female voice. All approaching his alley from the north. “Ugh, Jane I’m fine. I take this route home at night all the time and you never care because you’re usually still buried in your science. I have my taser, I’m _fine._ ” 

The voice quieted, apparently listening to a response on a phonecall. Then, “I’m not going to freeze, I only have three more blocks to go and I have my coat. Chill.” 

The footsteps were almost to the mouth of the alley. He was tempted to call out to the girl for help, but being tased was about the only thing that could make his situation worse. Better to let her walk by. Let it end. 

“Pssh. I thought it was funny. I am plenty warm, thanks.” The footsteps stopped dead and when the girl spoke again, her tone had completely changed. “Holy shit. Jane, I’m fine but I’m hanging up.” A rustle of clothing, then the footsteps hurriedly clicking towards him, unmistakable in their intent.

He forced himself to look up at the girl as she paused a few feet away, crouched slightly to peer at him. She had dark hair falling around her face out of a beanie and her alabaster cheeks were bitten with pink from the cold wind, but what really stood out to him through the haze of pain and cold were her massive blue eyes and bright red lips. That was fear in her eyes, it had to be. “D-d-don’t…t-t-tase me…p-please,” he forced himself to say. His voice sounded raspy, though, like a fucking horror movie monster’s, and he regretted saying anything because that was probably only going to scare this girl more.

“Tase you?” the girl asked in disbelief. “Dude, you couldn’t hurt me with a shotgun and a head start right now. Do you need help? Should I call 911?”

She was offering to help him? Was he dreaming? Maybe he was already dead. He hoped death didn’t hurt this bad, but maybe this was hell. “Am…I…in-n-n…h-hell?”

“Not quite, Jersey’s on the other side of the river,” the girl said. Under other circumstances, he would have laughed at that, but she didn’t seem to be playing for a laugh. The snark just came naturally. “You definitely need help. Promise not to freak out if I help? The last thing I want to do is tase you, buddy, but I will if you freak out.”

He forced a nod.

Satisfied, the girl took two more steps closer and crouched down beside him. There was movement too fast for his tired brain to track and then warmth enveloping his head. The sound of a zipper and then there were hands on his shoulders, pulling him forward from the cold brick wall he was crumpled against. The movement made him cringe in pain, but then there was warm softness around his shoulders too. He looked down as she let him lean back again and watched her tie the sleeves of her coat around him. “Sorry, but there’s no way I’m going to get those shoulders of yours into the sleeves. That better?”

Better? It was fucking heaven. Acid tears burned his eyes and he shut them tight to will them back. Why was she doing this? No one else had given him a second glance and she’d just given him her own hat and coat. 

Soft pressure on his cheeks. She was checking the wounds on his face and he didn’t even wince because his face had gone numb hours ago. “Man, I could kick the asshole that did this to your pretty face,” the girl grumbled. “You hurt anywhere else?” He forced a nod. “What happened? Do you need an ambulance?” He shook his head. “Okay, but you can’t stay here. Can you walk?” He hadn’t tried in two days. He didn’t have any injuries that would prevent walking, but he didn’t know if he could even stand right now he was so weak. “I can’t carry you, buddy, but I really want to take you home and get you warmed up. Think you can help me with that?”

Was this girl even real? He had to be hallucinating this. He opened his eyes and looked up at her. She looked a bit like a pin-up girl with the big eyes, the dark hair, and the red lips, and he didn’t think his brain was creative enough to conjure her. “D-d-don’t…kn-now.”

“If you can’t, I’ll call some help, but I think we should give it a go. I’ll help you, okay?”

He nodded wearily. The warmth from her coat and hat were making him drowsy. Or maybe that was his organs shutting down.

The girl leaned in and wrapped her arms around him tight, pulling him toward her. He scrambled a bit trying to get his completely numb legs under him and the girl cursed a blue streak when they careened sideways, but she managed to get him standing against the wall, the breath coming and going from his lungs in wheezy rasps. His head swam and his stomach clenched like he might vomit, but that wasn’t likely. The last thing he’d consumed had been something out of the garbage four days ago that he’d vomited up an hour later, that and dirty puddle water. “Breathe,” the girl said. “You got this. Just take a breath.” He took one, then another, and the second breath was less shaky than the first. “Good boy. Come on, let’s go.”

She kept one arm firmly around him and her free hand on his right elbow under her coat. His legs wobbled like he was a newborn foal as they moved, his knees ready to betray him and crumple under him, but the girl kept him steady, which was pretty impressive in her high-heeled boots. She talked to him the whole time, though the words went in and out of focus, encouraging him and praising him. “Good. You got this, honey. We gotta keep moving. I’m not going to be able to get you off the ground a second time. Come on, buddy, one more block. Good job. Keep coming.”

It was the bright lights above that told him she’d gotten him into her apartment building, that and her swearing as she hammered on the button for an elevator. The machine sounded questionable at best, but there was no way he was going to make it up any stairs right now. The lurch and grinding of the elevator as they rode up had him dry-heaving and the girl held him tight with both arms while he shuddered, even though if there was anything in his stomach it would have poured right down her back. “Shh…” she soothed, hands on his back, arms firm around him. “Shh…you’re okay. You gotta relax, buddy. We’re almost there.”

The elevator mercifully stopped then, and they were shuffling out and down the hall. Thank fuck her door was the first one on the right and it only took her a moment to get it open. Her apartment was dark and she just flicked on one lamp to guide them once they were safe behind her locked door. It didn’t feel much warmer than the rest of the building, which didn’t feel much warmer than outside, but there was no chill in the air. “Let’s keep going. I’m going to put you in the tub to warm you up. Come on.” His legs were fucking shaking and his arm was screaming at him and he just wanted to collapse on her floor and die, but they’d made it this far. The bathroom was small and blue and bright and when they made it to the edge of the tub and she tried to ease him down, he did collapse, landing in a heap in the tub on his right arm, not the left thank fuck. The girl yelped as she got pulled down with him and actually landed on him. “Sorry, dude. Oh wow, you look like death warmed over in this light. You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

She extricated herself and knelt outside of the tub, tugging off his sneakers and her coat, then starting the water. It took a few minutes to warm up to her specifications, not that he hardly noticed. His eyes had fallen shut and everything he was hearing seemed to be happening underwater. The was a _thunk_ and then the water was pooling around him, hot and seeping through his clothes to his vibrating flesh. It felt amazing and horrible at the same time, like a thousand needles driving into his extremities and like molten chocolate hugging his core. He shuddered and grimaced and the girl held his hands under the water and massaged his fingers through the pain, slow and soothing. “Easy, buddy. This is the only thing that’s gonna help. Stay with me, here.”

He was still shivering when the tub was full and she shut off the water, might even be shivering more, but nothing was numb anymore and it was easier to fight the blackness threatening to consume his vision when he opened his eyes. The girl was still massaging his hands and was leaned over him far enough that the ends of her hair were dragging in the water. Her eyes were still huge, maybe that was their natural state, and when he met them, she smiled. “There you are. You’re okay now, hon. Just try to relax and breathe. My name’s Darcy.”

“B-Bucky.”

“You’re going to be okay, Bucky.” Darcy released his hands then and stood, moving away. He wanted to beg her not to leave him, his fucking eyes burned with tears again of all things, but then there was water running in the sink and she was back, pressing a cup to his lips. “Drink some water.” He obeyed. The water was warm and it tasted so fresh and felt so fucking good that he drained the little cup. “Easy,” Darcy said, setting down the cup. “Give your stomach a minute, then you can have more.” He wanted to argue, needing that water so fucking bad, but his stomach was actually complaining and he clenched his jaw through the nausea and pain.

Darcy moved to the sink again and when she knelt beside him again, she had a wet washcloth. The fabric was soft and the water so warm, but he still flinched when she touched his face with it. “Shh…” she murmured. “I know, I’m sorry. It’s not going to get better if leave it like that, though.” She was right and he cringed, but allowed her to wash his face, then remove the hat and shift him so he was laying back lower in the tub. She washed his hair and his insides twisted and his eyes burned with embarrassment at how fucking filthy he was, but she didn’t flinch, just combed her tiny fingers through the grime until his hair was soft and wet and something resembling clean. She helped him sit up a bit again, then unplugged the tub and let the water begin to gurgle down the drain. “Sorry, buddy, but you’re going to feel so much better if we can get you clean. Want to help me get your clothes off? At least most of them?”

Bucky eyed the grey-brown water and actually shuddered in revulsion, then nodded. He was moving a little easier now that he wasn’t so fucking cold and once Darcy got him sitting upright, he was able to keep himself that way and help her maneuver his arms out of his jacket, then his shirt. His arm was throbbing and screaming at him and he gritted his teeth and grimaced through it. He didn’t dare look at Darcy’s face as she peeled the wet shirt off of him, but he heard her hiss. “Oh sweetie,” she said quietly, fingertips trailing over the bruises on his ribs and the older scars on his left arm and side. “Let me get you out of the rest of this and start the water back up, then I’m going to get you some ibuprofen or something, kay? That does not look fun.”

That was all. No horror, no revulsion, no fear, no questions. Just sympathy. He could hear Brock’s voice rattling around in his head and couldn’t believe she wasn’t echoing the words. _Fuck, man, that is disgusting. Sorry, but there’s no way I can get off if I’m looking at that. Christ._

Darcy peeled off his socks, then started on his jeans, which were a fight to get off wet when he could barely lift his hips to help her. By the time she dropped them in a pile of wet slop outside the tub, the last of the water was rippling down the drain and he was shivering in the cold air. “You’re okay, Bucky,” she said, hands moving quickly to drop the plug and start the water back up. Once the tub was slowly filling again, she grabbed a fluffy bath towel and wrapped it around his shoulders, hugging him tightly as he shook. Tears flooded his eyes again and this time, he couldn’t stop it, wasn’t numb enough anymore, and sobs were shaking his shoulders along with the cold as he began to cry in her arms. He wasn’t even sure why he was crying…there were plenty of reasons but none stood out. He just couldn’t fucking hold it in anymore. “Shh…” Darcy murmured, bending her head to lean it on his. “It’s okay, sweetie. You’re safe. You’re okay now. It’s okay.”

“Y-you…should’ve…l-l-let me…d-die,” Bucky choked out between sobs. He wasn’t worth her trouble. Not one bit.

“Yeah, no,” Darcy said, as if such a thing wasn’t even worth considering. “I’m sorry nobody else helped you, honey, but no one deserves to die like that. Besides, I got a hot guy in my tub out of the deal, so no biggie.” Maybe it was the shock of it all, but that actually wrenched a laugh out of him. “Yeah, if you’re not warm enough and you want to share body heat, I’m totally down.”

He snorted and let his head loll forward wearily. “I’m disgusting, doll.”

“You want a sponge bath first? I’m down for that too.”

Unbelievable. Bucky shook his head and wrenched it up again so he could look at Darcy. She was looking right back, still holding him tight with her chin on his shoulder. A crooked little smile was curving her red lips. “Fucking A, you have gorgeous eyes. Are those blue or grey or both? Don’t answer that, I’d rather keep staring and decide for myself. Oh, if you’re not interested, no pressure, but full disclosure, I am totally going to remember this the next time I need a fix.” She totally meant it too, he could see it in her eyes and her smirk. He couldn’t help laughing again and his lips curled into what almost felt like a smile. Darcy grinned cheekily and adjusted the towel around him to keep it out of the water as the tub filled. “Yeah, you can keep those boxer briefs on if it makes this less creepy, but I would totally be fine with them going if you want to get clean everywhere. Just saying.”

He snorted again and shrugged. “If you d-don’t mind…I w-w-would…r-really love to…n-not be wearing th-the same underwear I…l-left home in a week ago.”

“Oh yeah, we’re going to burn those, then.” The water was high enough now that Darcy retracted the towel, helped him lay back into the tub, and shut the water off. Darcy met his gaze, her eyes sparkling and that cheeky grin on her face. Fuck, she was cute. “I promise not to molest you or whatever, but you probably want help, huh?”

Bucky shook his head in amazement, again wondering if he was hallucinating, but there was no way his brain could manage to produce this. “B-be my guest.”

Darcy slowly sank her hands into the water and his eyes dropped shut at the tingling touch of her fingertips at his hips. “Oh yeah, this is so going in my spank bank,” Darcy said, slowly peeling his boxer briefs down his thighs. What could have been a really awkward situation had him laughing softly at this shameless, sweet girl. “This is life goals right here, dude. Fuck yes. Yeah, you definitely don’t need underwear. Like, ever. You are totally welcome to lay in my tub naked indefinitely.” Bucky laughed a bit harder and watched Darcy drop his dripping wet underwear on the pile with his jeans. She was grinning like the Cheshire Cat, eyes raking over him before coming up to meet his gaze. “Hot and you have a nice laugh? Sorry, honey, but you’re never leaving. Hope you don’t mind smelling like jasmine, though. That’s all I got for body wash.”

“That’s fine, doll,” he said, still chuckling. He was barely shivering now and his teeth had finally stopped chattering, which was such a fucking relief on his aching mouth and jaw. “Anything’s an improvement right now, seriously.”

“Fabulous.” Darcy popped open a bottle and poured a liberal amount of pale blue liquid into the tub, then more onto the washcloth she’d used on his face. “So, seriously. Sponge bath? I volunteer as tribute.”

“Are you even real?” he asked, shaking his head again. “I’m so gross and pathetic and you don’t know me at all and you want to give me a sponge bath?”

Darcy quirked her eyes upward to contemplate this for a moment, then shrugged and nodded. “Yep. You might be a psycho, but I’m definitely fine with dying this way. Your call.”

Maybe he was dead and this was heaven. Normally his skin would be crawling being naked in front of a stranger (hell, a _human_ ) since Afghanistan, but Darcy was so transparent and so blatantly _not_ judging him after everyone else had that he was pretty okay with it. Shockingly okay with it. “Fuck it. Sure. I’d love that ibuprofen first, though.”

“Deal.” Darcy pretty literally scurried to her medicine cabinet, shook a couple of ibuprofen into her hand, refilled the water cup, and returned to his side. He chased the ibuprofen with the entire cup of water, sagging against the back of the tub because it felt so good going down his throat. Darcy set the cup aside and started very slowly scrubbing at his hand with the washcloth, moving up his arm. “We’re going to put some antiseptic on those cuts when we’re done here, too,” she said. “Sorry, bud, but those are totally infected.”

He wasn’t about to argue with that. Definitely not when her gentle movements felt so fucking good on his skin. Christ, she’d only made it to his elbow and he was putty in her hands. It was pretty pathetic, but after the week and, really, the year he’d had, he was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. When she made it to his shoulder, careful to wash every inch of him along the way, Darcy moved to his left arm. He tensed, but she was so damn gentle on his scarred flesh and it was so warm and the cloth and her skin so soft, his zinging nerves and twisted scar tissue quieted beneath her hands. It felt so good that a pathetic little moan bubbled up from his throat and he kind of wanted to die of embarrassment, but Darcy just took her time, moving back down his arm once she reached his shoulder, massaging away the pain. “I hate to ask this, Bucky…” Darcy said. His stomach twisted, waiting for the sickening question. “But did you get this patched up in, like, an alley in Mexico City or something? ‘Cuz if this was an American doctor, I would totally sue them.”

A choking laugh bubbled up from him and he stared at her in incredulity. She was smiling just a bit and had an eyebrow raised expectantly, but had not stopped massaging his arm. “Um, sorry. That is not what I thought you were going to ask. It happened in Afghanistan, so the emergency medical was kind of shoddy, but the last two surgeries were at Walter Reed. Tax dollars at work.”

Darcy curled her lip in distaste and growled under her breath, focus back on his arm as she worked. “That’s fucking horrible. Isn’t Walter Reed that VA hospital that was in the news because it’s a hellhole?”

“That’s it.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie. That really sucks.” And that was all. She gradually moved back up his arm and washed his neck and back, then started down his chest, paying extra attention to the scar tissues on his left side just as she had with his arm. He’d been certain she wanted the story of what had happened to him, but she hadn’t asked, not even when he’d made it clear he’d gotten it in a warzone. He’d been sure he would have to recount the story, relive it, but she hadn’t asked. He turned liquid again in relief.

Darcy’s movements seemed to slow as she dragged the washcloth down his chest, even though there weren’t scars or bruises there, and he looked up at her. Her cheeks were flushed and there was a crooked tilt to her lips as her wide eyes focused on his body. He’d lost a ton of weight since Afghanistan, especially in the last week, and missed the body he’d worked so hard for, but she didn’t seem to mind. He stared at her in disbelief, but she was definitely taking liberties right now to check him out and touch just a little longer than necessary. Brock was attracted to him in a way, but there were constant backhanded comments from him that in the last few months, when Bucky was feeling fragile anyway, had been enough to make him feel utterly undesirable. The criticism had always fallen flat before he deployed, but since he came back in pieces, every word had felt like a bullet. “It’s been a while since anyone looked at me like that,” he whispered.

Darcy just smirked, eyes not lifting, utterly shameless in her appreciation. “Well, they seriously missed out.”

Not exactly. His throat closed up, but he felt so fucking vulnerable and pathetic right now that he couldn’t help the words. “No, doll. My _boyfriend_ didn’t look at me like that.”

Darcy’s face twisted into an angry scowl. Her dark eyes flicked up to meet his and she said quietly, “Hang on. You had a boyfriend…and he didn’t appreciate how stupid hot you are? That’s what you’re saying?”

Bucky looked away, face burning in embarrassment and misery. “I _was_ hot, I’ll give you that. And he liked it. Then I got blown half to hell and put back together by Victor Frankenstein and I was too fucked in the head to want to eat or work out so I lost a ton of muscle…. I don’t look like I did when I met him. And he stayed with me through my deployment and recovery and all that garbage, which was great, but yeah. He wasn’t real impressed anymore.”

“What a piece of shit,” Darcy grumbled. “Look at me, Bucky.” He did. Some of her anger was gone, replaced by earnestness. “You’re _stupid hot._ Okay? And I’m glad he’s your ex, not your current boyfriend, because he was obviously a shithead.”

His chest felt like it was caving in and Bucky shut his eyes as the tears threatened a reprise. “Well, at least with him I had a roof over my head.”

He could feel Darcy’s eyes boring into him. “What are you saying? Are you saying that you were freezing to death in an alley because your boyfriend kicked you out?” He locked his jaw as his throat clogged with sobs and Darcy very carefully stroked his temple with her fingertips, avoiding the cuts and bruises where Brock had punched him and the mugger had kicked him. “Jesus, fuck. Bucky…sweetheart…that’s really horrible. _He’s_ really horrible. I’m so sorry. There wasn’t anyone else you could go to?” He shook his head once rather than risk answering verbally. Darcy continued to stroke his temples. His mom had always done that when he was sick as a kid and it felt so fucking safe and sweet and wonderful. God, he missed his mom. “There’s nothing in your pockets. You didn’t have a phone or wallet or anything.” He nodded once. “That’s insane. Is there anyone I can call for you? Your family?” He couldn’t help cringing at that, which was answer enough. “Shh…that’s okay. You’re safe here. You don’t need to worry, I’m not going to kick you out. Actually, I’m not going to let you _leave_ , I’m _certainly_ not going to kick you out. What a _jackass_. Wow. That’s really fucked up that he’d do that to you. I’m sorry, hon.”

He didn’t know what to say. Instead, he kept his eyes shut and just leaned into her hand on his head.

Eventually, Darcy returned to quietly washing his body, her hands slow and soothing as they scrubbed his skin clean. It chased away the misery and left his brain floating above him somewhere as she carefully lifted one leg and then the other to wash all the way around them. She paused a moment, mumbling to herself, “Okay, Darce. You got this. Just breathe through it and you can have some quality time with your vibrator _later_.”

Bucky couldn’t help snorting at that. “You’re adorable.”

“ _No._ I’m _not_ adorable, _don’t_ encourage this. I’m trying to be professional here! I was being so inappropriate flirting with you and you don’t swing my way and your ex is a monster and you totally don’t deserve me getting hot and bothered all over you right now,” Darcy rambled, her voice half an octave higher than it had been. Bucky cracked one eye open to peer at her curiously. She was staring at the tile wall of the tub, face and neck blushing fiercely, hands on his upper thigh, mumbling to herself again. “Okay. Breathe. You’ve got this, Darcy. You’ve totally got this.”

“You know you don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable.” Darcy stiffened and Bucky did too in an effort to control the way his skin was starting to crawl with nerves. “Seriously, doll. You already saved my fucking life. This is way awkward to do to a stranger and I don’t want you upset.”

Darcy met his gaze with especially wide eyes. “Oh, I am definitely not upset or uncomfortable. I have never been more comfortable in my _life_.”

He rolled his eyes and shut them both again. Then, Darcy slowly skated her hands up to his hip and very gently began to wash the last of him. His nerves crackled to life and he tried to be sneaky about taking a slow, deep breath. This was weird enough without his libido kicking in. He definitely couldn’t fault her for not being thorough, though, and there wasn’t much besides staying still that he could do to hide his interest, so he wasn’t surprised when Darcy spoke again a minute later with a smirk in her voice. “You swing _both_ ways, don’t you?”

Bucky exhaled slowly. No point to suffocating himself trying not to move now. “Yep.”

“God, you’re perfect,” Darcy groaned. One corner of his lip curled upward of its own will. Then, Darcy retracted her hands from the water and rocked back on her heels. “Smirk all you want. That is the finest dick I have held in my life. Seriously, you’re checking _every_ box on this fantasy, buddy.”

“ _Every_ box?”

“Was that a sex joke too? God damn. It’s like I created you in a lab. I’m going to find you some clothes and something for those cuts, okay? Not because I want to, but it seems like the right thing to do, I suppose.”

Bucky snorted. “Thanks, doll.”

“That’s another thing. Who calls a girl ‘doll’ anymore?”

He shrugged. “Never would normally, but you look like a ‘doll’ to me. Like a 40’s pin-up girl. I’ll stop if it bothers you. It’s not very…updated or feminist.”

“Yeah, you definitely came out of a lab. Have you ever met a girl who wouldn’t be flattered if you told her she looked like a pin-up girl? I guess I’ve known uptight women who would find that objectifying or whatever, but I’m definitely flattered.” She paused, lost in thought for a moment, then jolted back to life. “Yeah. Clothes now. Before I start offering to share body heat again.”

Bucky shook his head and listened to her leave the bathroom and start rustling around in a nearby closet. A part of him was still thinking he might be dead and in heaven. Where had this girl come from? She was seriously something else.

Darcy returned a few minutes later with a pile of clothes that she set on the toilet and a tube of antibiotic cream. The cream stung, but he gritted his teeth through it knowing that the burn meant it was working. Then, Darcy unplugged the tub and very softly touched his right shoulder. “No falling asleep yet. Let’s get you dry and put some calories in you first, huh?”

His eyes snapped open at the thought of food and his stomach knotted itself up to remind him of how empty it was. He sat up and cooperated as best as he could while she dried his upper half, fluffing his hair with the towel. Then, she dragged a giant t-shirt and equally giant sweatshirt over his arms and head. Thank god for ibuprofen and for Darcy’s lovely hands because his arm barely complained at all at the movements involved in that. Drying and dressing the rest of him was more of a trick since it involved him perching on the edge of the tub for a minute, but it happened somehow. “Lucky for you I like my Sunday clothes three sizes too big or you and your fabulous shoulders would’ve been out of luck,” Darcy said as she helped him to his feet. “Let’s plant you on the couch. I think I have soup or something.”

Her couch was so damn soft and squishy. He could feel her favorite spot in the form of a rut in the cushions and curled up in it like a damn cat while she puttered in the kitchen. It was pretty pathetic, but it wasn’t like it would be worthwhile to pretend he had a shred of dignity left. 

It was the middle of the night, but Darcy didn’t seem tired at all, which he was glad for. If he had reason to think he was keeping her from bed, he would have felt more guilty than he already did about imposing on her. He was very nearly asleep when Darcy returned to the living area and perched on the coffee table in front of him. He peered at her blearily and she offered a bottle of Gatorade and an oversized mug with a spoon sticking out of it. “I have grape Gatorade and chicken broth. Don’t be dumb and have so much that you get sick, but you totally need some calories and electrolytes and shit before you sleep, dude.”

Bucky forced himself into a mostly upright position and took a few sips of the Gatorade, then traded it for the broth. After the week he’d had, both made him feel like he was dining at a five-star restaurant. He tried to pace himself because she was right that he didn’t want to throw up right now, but it was so fucking good.

When he gave up on the food for the night, Darcy put what he hadn’t finished in her fridge and returned with a glass of water and a giant afghan made of ridiculously soft, knobby yarn. She draped the blanket over him and he instantly melted. “You’re an angel,” he said.

Darcy snorted. “Um, no. That’s sweet, but no. If I was an angel, I would at least pretend that I was going to try to sleep without first getting off thinking about you, but yeah, that’s one hundred percent going to happen.”

Bucky chuckled and looked up at her through slitted eyes. She was smirking at him again and looked gorgeous in the dim light. The humor left him quickly, though, and he reached out to take her hand. When he did, her own smile faded a bit and he whispered, “Seriously. You saved my life. Thank you.”

“I almost took an Uber home because of the cold and I’m so glad I didn’t,” Darcy said quietly. She turned her hand over in his to grip his fingers. “I could never have left you there, Bucky, and it makes me sick that someone did. Even if you were a psycho and I had to tase you, I would have gotten you help. No one deserves to be where you were.”

“I was out there a week, doll. I begged for help, told people I just needed water, food, over-the-counter pain meds. It wasn’t just one person who left me there. It was everyone but you.”

Darcy’s eyes tightened shut and she bowed her head to kiss his knuckles. Warmth crept outward along his skin from her lips. “People are monsters. I’m so glad I found you.” She kissed his hand again, then carefully buried it beneath the blanket with the rest of him. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”

“Thank you,” he whispered one last time. She smiled, ran her fingers once through the hair she’d washed for him, then turned off the lamp and went to bed. He was asleep before she’d finished brushing her teeth.


	2. I Needed to Laugh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the wonderful response to the first chapter! Your enthusiasm is everything.

Bucky woke at some point in the early morning to Darcy rubbing his shoulder, which meant that last night was real. She pressed two ibuprofen into his hand and offered the partial bottle of Gatorade from last night and he accepted both, though he was so weary he couldn’t see straight. The moment he handed the bottle back, his eyes fell shut again and Darcy ran her fingers through his hair, murmuring, “Yep, go back to sleep, sweetie.”

The next time he woke, the curtains were blocking most of the sunlight from the windows, but what crept around the edges suggested that it was mid-day. He stretched a bit without sitting up, sore and tentative, and heard movement nearby. Darcy. He looked around and watched her approach from where she’d been sitting at the kitchen counter with a laptop. She smiled at him and offered him the Gatorade and some ibuprofen again. This time he was awake enough to mumble a ‘thanks.’

“I got you some protein mix stuff while you were asleep,” she said. “There’s a chance it will taste like death, but it’ll help. Whenever you’re up to it.”

“Thanks. If I can sit up, I’ll try it.”

She offered him a hand and he took it, allowing her to slowly pull him into a mostly upright position on the couch. The room spun a bit, but righted itself, and he was pretty happy to have not retched up any Gatorade or ibuprofen. “Okay, that’s not as bad as I expected.”

“Sweet. One protein shake coming up.” She gave him an exaggerated wink. “Hope you like artificial chocolate flavoring.”

“My favorite,” he said wryly. 

The shake was chalky and gritty and chemical-tasting, but he was not about to argue knowing that it was the fastest way to reverse the clock on him almost starving to death. Darcy may have been checking him out in the tub last night, but he’d been focused on the way his bones looked pressing against his skin, no flesh between them. He didn’t want to look in a mirror, although now that he was consuming things again it would be inevitable. He’d been so starved and dehydrated that it had been days since he’d needed to enter a bathroom with their cursed mirrors, but Darcy’s efforts were going to change that.

Darcy had moved a trashcan to the floor within his reach, but over the course of an hour he drank the whole shake down without incident. She eventually returned to her computer, tapping away at either it or her phone in earnest. Was she working? He hoped he wasn’t distracting her or keeping her from going to an actual office.

To busy himself, he sat on the couch looking around her little apartment. The place was a riot of bright colors, shag rugs, pop culture references, and knick-knacks. It was cluttered and messy and overflowing with personality. In any other situation, it would have been the kind of place to send him into an anxiety attack, but now he only felt warm thinking that it was very Darcy.

Eventually, Darcy took a break from whatever she was doing and came to sit next to him on the couch, another protein shake in hand. He accepted the shake and took a sip with a cringe, then asked, “Were you working?”

“Yep.”

“I’m not distracting you or keeping you from somewhere, am I?”

“Pssh. Don’t worry about it. I work sixty-hour weeks for peanuts, so my boss kind of owes me a home office day.”

He felt guilty, but she was so blasé about it that he let it go. “What do you do?”

“I’m a lab assistant to an astrophysicist at Stark Industries.”

His eyebrows shot up and he looked to her, letting her see how intimidated he was. “Wow. That is…really cool. And totally doesn’t sound like something you can do from home.”

“My job description includes a lot of data entry and paperwork crap. Most things are easier to do there, but there’s plenty I can do here too, I promise.”

He bit his lower lip, eyes dropping. “Okay. If you’re sure. I don’t want you to get in trouble just to babysit me.”

Darcy scoffed dramatically. “You’re a tough guy, you don’t need much babysitting. And besides, I practically live there most of the time. I’m _grateful_ for an excuse to stay home today. See? Sunday clothes on a Thursday.”

He eyed her. He hadn’t taken a moment to observe her attire last night other than knowing from her footsteps that she’d been in heels. Today, though, she was drowning in plaid pajama pants and a purple sweatshirt that looked to be the same size as the clothes she’d loaned him, though he was in black and red. Her dark brown hair was hanging around her shoulders in waves and though she was definitely wearing makeup, her lips weren’t the fire engine red they’d been last night and she had on a frankly adorable pair of glasses. She still kind of had a face like a pin-up girl. “You do look comfortable. And not in heels.”

“Right?!” Darcy pointed to her Chewbacca slippers. “So much better than heels. Thank you for the excuse.”

“What did you tell your boss?”

“That my friend was in crisis and I needed to work from home to be there for him.”

She said it so casually, like it was a given. Bucky stared blankly at her, trying to recall the last time someone had admitted to being friends with him. He hadn’t been in touch with any of the guys from downrange since he got back because he didn’t want to shake their confidence and he hadn’t reached out to any of his former friends after the shitshow with his family. He’d broken enough people. “Are we friends?”

Darcy quirked an eyebrow at him. “What are friends for if not to wash your junk for you when you’re half-dead of exposure?”

“Point taken.” He didn’t deserve that. His eyes dropped because he didn’t even deserve the way she was looking at him. He took a long sip of the protein shake while he tried to get a handle on the way his chest was caving in, but it didn’t help because it reminded him that she had gone out to buy protein powder while he was sleeping on her couch under her blanket wearing her clothes. He didn’t deserve this. It was too good to be true. “You’re a really good friend. Really good.”

“I really am. A less good friend would have given you smaller clothes so those shoulder would be easier to ogle.” She waggled her eyebrows at him and he snorted. “I get that you’re having a self-image issue right now and that sucks, but seriously. If you were any hotter I would have had a coronary bathing you last night.” His cheeks burned and the corner of his lips quirked upward despite all the other shit threatening to drown him. She was so good at making him feel _present_ and _human_. Darcy saw the blush and the lip twitch and squealed. “God, you’re adorable. I’m going to go back to pretending to work now so I don’t jump your bones.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and shook his head at her, but said nothing as he watched her bounce up off the couch and return to the barstool she’d been perched at before. Since she was being so utterly shameless flirting with him, he didn’t think it unfair to check her out for just a second. It was hard to gauge what was going on under her mountain of sweats, though, besides the perfect hips which were probably never really hidden by any form of clothing. He turned his eyes back to the protein shake in his hands, wondering if she had the body to match that pin-up girl face. That stirred a far more unsettling thought which he immediately voiced. Such questions needed answering. “Hey, Darcy. You don’t have…like…a boyfriend who’s going to walk in here and ask who I am, do you?”

Darcy scoffed. “Nope. Even if I did, I have never given a man a key, bud. I like my space.”

“I’m in your space.”

“That’s different. You’re here because you needed rescuing, like real life or death rescuing. My exes wanted to be here because they were incapable of cooking, washing dishes, or folding laundry like adults.”

His frown deepened. “Do you by chance have a thing for pathetic guys?”

She scoffed again. “The state you were in last night was kind of pathetic, but I don’t think that’s a natural part of your personality. You were military for cripes sake, you wouldn’t have enlisted if you were pathetic. But yeah, I don’t like to be bossed around and, unfortunately, that usually means dating guys who need to be bossed around.”

“I see.” A quiet voice in the back of his head was musing that the guy he’d been before Afghanistan would have suited Darcy’s needs. Not bossy, but self-sufficient. He’d dated a girl years ago who was more dependent than his teenage sister Paige. It had gotten old fast and yeah, he’d never considered giving her a key to his place.

A bolt of sadness came almost out of nowhere and pierced his chest. He’d had his own place once. Just his, full of his stuff, only him with a key. He hadn’t had anything like that in a long time and he missed it. He wouldn’t own a single possession by the time he was done angrily disposing of the disgusting clothes Darcy had found him in. There was no salvaging them, not after the time he’d spent lying in alleys. Something tugged at his heart and he bitterly missed his favorite t-shirt from the Five Finger Death Punch concert he’d gone to five years ago, worn and washed so many times that it was more grey than black and so soft. He missed his kit and everything in it that made him sane when he carried it around, right down to his weapon and dogtags. He wondered if Brock still had any of his stuff or if he’d sent it all to the curb after taking out the trash, the trash being Bucky. It didn’t matter because he could never go back there and ask for his things even if Brock had them. That would end in Brock either killing him or convincing him to move back in, which he’d come to realize was basically the same thing.

He was a ghost. No home, no possessions, no job, no identification. 

No reason to live.

His hand was shaking when he set the protein shake on the coffee table and the glass rattled against the wood. Now that he was strong enough to move, he could go to the bridge. It seemed a poor way to thank Darcy for saving his life, but it would get him out of her hair and once she was done patching him up and let him leave, she wouldn’t know what became of him either way.

Echoes of screams and bombs bursting rattled in his eardrums.

He’d thought about it before. Even tried it once by swallowing an entire bottle of pain pills, which was how he’d landed himself needing Brock to pick up his prescriptions for him. He’d thought about it a lot in the last week, especially in the forty-eight hours before Darcy dragged him to his feet. Now he was physically capable of doing it, which was all that had been stopping him last night.

The protein shake moved to the other end of the coffee table and then Darcy was perched there instead, her knees bumping his and her hands wrapped around his fists. His knuckles were white. “Hey,” she said quietly. “You went somewhere bad. What’s going on?”

He swallowed the pain, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes, keeping his gaze firmly on her little fingers with her purple fingernails. “I had a life and now I’m just…a ghost. If you hadn’t found me last night, no one would have known the difference. Hell, if I’d been able to get there on my own steam, I would have jumped off the bridge and ended it. Stop the starving, stop the freezing, stop the pain.”

“Aw, sweetie, no.” Darcy moved to sit beside him on the couch and sling her arms around him, pulling him tight into her chest. He melted and let her drop his head on her shoulder and rest her cheek on his hair. “I really, really don’t want you to do anything like that and if you did, _I_ would know the difference. And you’re not a ghost, you’re looking at this wrong. It’s not going to be easy, it’s not, but you have a blank slate. Obviously, your life has really sucked lately, but you can start over now and try again, do whatever you want. Right? No more Uncle Sam, no more dickhead boyfriend, just you and whatever you want your life to be now.”

“Maybe.”

“None of this ‘maybe’ shit. Yeah, you’re starting from scratch, but you’ve got a place to stay until you figure it out. You seem to like this couch. And when you’re up for it, we’ll go across the street and pick up some guy clothes and soap and shit. You probably don’t want to smell like girl forever. We can go online and get your driver’s license and social security card and all that garbage reprinted. Or hell, we can go to your apartment and I’ll tase your ex so you can grab your stuff. I’m totally on board with that.”

“Probably doesn’t have any of it anymore,” he said, his throat hoarse with unshed tears. “Probably took it out with the rest of the trash.”

“You’d better not be calling yourself trash right now. Shit, dude. You’re amazing and he was a jackass for making you think any different.”

He sighed and it came out as something close to a whimper. “You’re too damn nice. I’m not worth this.”

Darcy pressed a kiss to his hair and began rubbing soothing circles in his shoulder. “Dude, you are the sweetest puppy of a guy I’ve ever met. You deserve the fucking world.”

She didn’t have a clue. He turned his head to bury his face deeper in her sweatshirt. Hidden there like the coward he was, he mumbled, “I did terrible things. Terrible things.”

“In Afghanistan?”

“Yeah. And my family…I said horrible things to them when I got back. That’s why I couldn’t go to them. What I did…it’s not forgivable.”

“I don’t know about that. And you said it when you got back? You mean from getting half your arm blow off? Pretty sure you weren’t all you right then. Give it some time, figure your shit out so when you’re ready you can show them you weren’t yourself then and you’re ready to fix it. As for Afghanistan…dude, you were a soldier. I’m not a soldier, so I’m no expert, but I don’t think you did whatever you did for the fun of it. You did it because you had to.”

Some of that was true, but it was really hard to believe right then. Instead of arguing with her or explaining just how unforgivable what he’d done was, he allowed his shoulders to shake and his tears to run as he silently cried into her shirt.

\----------------

Bucky awoke to the sound of quiet laughter coming from the tv. He’d actually cried himself to sleep _on Darcy_ , which was pretty damn sad. And, apparently, not entirely unwelcome. As the sleep crept away, he realized that at some point they’d found a horizontal position with him half laying on Darcy, his head pillowed on her breasts, which felt pretty fantastic. Their legs were tangled under the afghan and her arms were around him, one hand stroking his hair as she watched a sitcom on tv, the source of the laughter. He tensed, embarrassed and ready to scramble off of her, but Darcy tightened her arms around him and kept him pinned. “Nope. You are way better than an electric blanket and I’m keeping you.”

He snorted at that and forced his muscles to relax again. “You sure I’m not squishing you?”

“Yep. You were really out and I arranged you so nothing bony is jabbing me. Although there are certain potentially _bony_ parts of you that totally have a free pass at jabbing me, just so you know.”

“Jeez.”

“I can’t see your face, but I’m going to happily assume that you’re blushing again because that was so cute. Relax. Watch tv with me. This is the one where Monica and Chandler get married and it’s great.”

He peered through narrowed eyes at the tv. “They’re still airing _Friends_ reruns?”

“Sadly, no, at least not on the Peasant Vision channels, but I have the whole series on DVD and I’m rewatching it.”

“Peasant Vision?”

“Yes, poor people tv? The channels that are free if you’re capable of purchasing a set of rabbit ears from Walmart?”

“I have never heard it called that before.”

“Shh! The ceremony’s about to happen.”

He watched quietly for maybe a minute, then had to ask, “Why are they so nervous? Where is the priest?”

“OHMYGODHOWHAVEYOUNOTSEENTHIS? Joey’s the officiant and he’s late because he’s stuck at a set. _WATCH_.”

That was it. No probing questions, no blame games or guilt tripping or dredging up painful thoughts. He didn’t want to talk about it, couldn’t talk about it, and she didn’t even broach the issue. It was wonderful, like being an actual person again instead of the zombie that had been rattling around Brock’s apartment for the last year. They just stayed tangled up like that and watched _Friends_ together, Darcy turning up the volume now that she wasn’t worried about accidentally waking him. He’d only seen bits and pieces of the show years ago and, though he really only liked two of the characters, it was funnier than he would have thought and it felt so damn good to laugh. They ended up watching three episodes, right up to the end of the disc. When the third episode ended and the disc cycled back to the menu, Darcy grumbled, “One of these days, I’m going to splurge on Netflix and never have to get up to change the disc again.”

“Is _Friends_ on Netflix?”

“Hmm. Good point. If I get that desperate, I’ll Google it before I buy anything. They do have _The Witcher_ , though, and $8.99 a month might be worth it to have ninety-eight percent of Henry Cavill’s naked body available at my beck and call.”

An involuntary groan slipped from his throat as his brain produced the bath scene he’d purposely burned into his memory. “Yeah. Definitely worth it.”

“Jane and I binged it when it came out and there are totally a few scenes that I copied onto my mental hard drive for later use, if you know what I mean,” Darcy said in that meandering voice she got when she was flirting.

There was only one possible response. “Um, fuck yes.”

“Hmm. I’m tempted to say ‘fuck it, I need Netflix right now so we can watch _The Witcher_ ,’ but I totally wouldn’t be able to sit through that bath scene without putting my hands in my pants and that might be awkward for you.”

Bucky snorted at that. “Well, I’d be in the same boat, so that would either be doubly awkward or scary hot.”

Darcy moaned and the sound reverberated through her lovely chest and warmed the side of his face. “Oh, that image _does things to me._ ”

“What image? The bath scene?”

“You jerking off while watching the bath scene,” she groaned. “You’re killing me, dude.”

Now he did blush and shook his head too, though not hard. He was still laying on her chest, after all. “I have never met a woman who talked about masturbating as much as you.”

“Ick. Sorry about that,” Darcy said. He could actually hear the cringe in her voice. “I sort of have no filter. I’m sorry, by the way, for the things I said last night. Some of that was pretty pervy.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up and he picked up his head enough to look her in the eye. “Darce, no. You seriously have no idea how much I needed to laugh. And back when I knew how to be funny, I was always cracking dirty jokes, so there’s nothing you could say that would shock me. I’m blushing because I’m flattered, not scandalized.”

Darcy breathed out a massive exhale and her muscles seemed to instantly liquify under him. “Oh thank god. I was picturing myself trying not to make any more sex jokes in front of you and I think my head would explode.”

“Well, don’t hold back on my account. Talking about jerking off watching _The Witcher_ is the most human I’ve felt in months.”

Darcy smirked. “In that case, I can keep ‘em coming all night long.”

“That was cheesy.”

“Yeah, but you’re smiling.”

He was.


	3. Ruined

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comments I've been getting on this are so wonderful!!! Thank you!!! Some big moments in this chapter were born from thoughts raised by some of you lovely people, so thank you, and if you have questions or ideas, please comment!

Bucky drank two more protein shakes that evening while Darcy ordered a pizza. He didn’t think his guts could handle pizza just yet, but Darcy insisted he offer an opinion on toppings, so he told her no onions or peppers in case he did take the plunge. Anything else she picked would be way easier to digest. While they waited for the pizza, he used the bathroom for its intended purpose for the first time in an unsettling number of days, carefully avoiding looking in the mirror. When he came out and wasn’t falling over dizzy, he took a moment to consider and decided to attempt a shower. He still felt gross. Maybe he’d always feel gross after that experience. Could you ever really scrub Big Apple alley slime out of your pores?

Darcy encouraged him with a smile and a two-handed gesture, though she awkwardly suggested he leave the door unlocked in case he either passed out or decided he wanted company. He let himself laugh at that and agreed.

He wouldn’t have agreed if she hadn’t made a joke of it. That was the great thing about Darcy, one of many. She seemed to somehow subconsciously know what would be difficult for him and could make it so much easier by burying the problem in humor.

His arm was stiff again and screamed in protest every time he had to raise it, but the hot water was a balm on his scar tissue and quieted the nerves he’d stirred into wakefulness. It still ached, it always did, but he was not crying in the bottom of the tub even though that had happened before, so he put it in the win column.

He also did not pass out and, despite Darcy’s teasing and blatant sniffing of him when he sat beside her on the couch again after the shower, he really didn’t mind using her soap. He’d had exes who used all manner of foul-smelling soaps, perfumes, and colognes and jasmine was really fucking nice by comparison. The needy ex-girlfriend had used a scent that he was pretty sure was actually named “Flower Orgy” and Brock had a favorite cologne he wore when he was feeling especially aggressive that made Bucky’s nose and eyes burn and his throat close up, though whether that was the smell or a Pavlovian response was difficult to say anymore and no, he was not going to think about that right now. Because jasmine was great.

The pizza arrived, injecting the mouth-watering smells of molten cheese, sausage, mushrooms, and tomatoes into the air. Bucky found himself involuntarily watching the pizza box as Darcy carried it to the counter, opened it, and began choosing slices. She caught him and laughed. “Edge or center?”

“Edge.”

It was so fucking good. He’d never had a better pizza in his life. Maybe the shitty week, shitty month, shitty year he’d had made him biased, but it was so damn good. His stomach started to roll halfway through the second slice and he pushed for a few more bites before giving up to ooze into Darcy’s couch and enjoy the lingering taste of pizza on his tongue.

“I think I have an extra toothbrush from the last time I went to the dentist,” Darcy mused. “Still in the package and everything. You’re kind of on your own if you want to smell like you have a penis, though. Or shave. Pretty sure dollar store ladies’ razors are not meant for faces.”

Bucky snorted. “Toothbrush would be amazing. And you’d be amazed what I can do with a really shitty blade, though sharpness would help.”

“Hmm. I think I have one still in the package, that would be sharpish. But yeah, ‘shitty’ is a kind word for it.” Darcy’s eyes got big and she grinned. “Wait. Military. Are you one of those badasses who can shave his face with, like, a combat knife? ‘Cuz that’s pretty hot.”

“Yeah, I can. Doesn’t work as well as a razor, but if I’m short of supplies or feel like making someone nervous, sure.”

“ _Sick_ ,” Darcy said in a tone clearly meant to convey reverence. “I’ve always wanted to be that badass, but I nick myself shaving every time and I’m doing my legs with a ladies’ razor. Not very cool.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at her. “I mostly got good at it to scare the new guys. _Christ, Sarge, you know only serial killers do that, right?_ And I’d just give them this scary smile. There are a lot of ways to earn respect…with some guys you had to start with fear.”

Darcy smiled and curled her legs up between them on the middle couch cushion. “You were a sergeant?”

“Once.”

“I don’t know much about military ranks, but I know that’s pretty good.”

“I was kind of like a go-between between the guys and the officers. It was my job to be the people-person, have everybody’s backs, make sure the guys knew the plan and the officers knew what was going on with the guys.”

“Sounds tough.”

He shrugged his right shoulder. “It could be. Not the hardest part of the job. Some guys are cut out for it and I was. They partly made me a sergeant because I was doing a lot of that anyway. It’s a little bit merit, a little bit temperament and responsibility.”

Darcy raised an eyebrow, her smile gentle. Welcoming, not prodding. A strange and comforting change. She wanted to hear what he wanted to tell her, no more, no less. “That wasn’t the hardest part? Sounds like you were the platoon’s dad or therapist or something.”

He couldn’t help snorting at that, thinking of some of the messes he’d untangled for guys in his platoon. “That’s…not inaccurate. I was always fixing things and talking people down. And I guess I was kind of a mentor to my spotter. He was pretty young, looked up to me. Sharp kid.”

“What’s a spotter?”

He almost didn’t answer, hesitated and looked away for long enough that the air became thick around them. People had all sorts of reactions to hearing that he’d been a sniper, most of them negative in some way. They’d ask how many people he’d killed, what his longest killshot was, how long snipers sat still waiting, whether he had to wear a fucking diaper, whether he got to keep his rifle, all manner of questions he really had zero desire to answer, but that’d be the first thing out of their mouths. Somehow, he thought Darcy might surprise him, though. “I was a sniper. A spotter is a sniper’s partner. Helps do math, keep up communications, protect us while I’m focused on targets.”

Darcy tipped her head thoughtfully, that gentle smile still on her lips. “Yeah, I guess I can see that. You look too smart for door-kicking jobs. Tell me about your spotter. What was his name?”

_You look too smart…_ what? His brain derailed and he sat there for a second just blinking at her while he tried to get his brain back online to answer her question. Right. Spotter. “Parker. Peter Parker. Wicked smart kid. I was a good sniper before I started working with him, broke a few records at the academy, but he made me better. Fantastic brain for math and physics. Good eyes, too. Bastard was so twitchy and talkative, though. He knew when to shut up and stay still, thank god, but when he didn’t have to, all bets were off. He would talk a mile a minute about every damn thing. Everyone else called me ‘Sarge’ or ‘Barnes’, but he called me ‘Sergeant Barnes, sir’ or ‘sir’ for short. Hell, he was only eighteen or nineteen when we got paired up, enlisted so the Army would pay his tuition bills. He should be out now. Was planning to go to engineering school.”

“You haven’t heard from him?”

He looked away again as that familiar ache descended on his chest. “No,” he said quietly. “I was med-boarded out. No one knew how to get ahold of me and I didn’t keep in touch.”

Darcy thought about that silently for a minute and he could feel her big blue eyes boring into the side of his head. His skin began to itch as he wondered what she’d say, if she’d ask why he abandoned his men without a word. Finally, when his throat was beginning to close up and his lungs were aching, Darcy said softly, “You were afraid you’d scare them, right? You were their sergeant. You didn’t want them to see you hurt and get scared.”

He nodded and the tears fell, but they were silent, thank fuck. His voice gave him away, though, if the tears didn’t. It was a strangled croak. “It’s mind over matter over there. You have to be able to do your job. Everyone knows you could die any day or have to shoot a civilian or whatever other shit, but you can’t think about it. You have to believe you’re invincible and you have to believe that you’re just following orders. If you have to shoot a child, you were following orders. If you have to carry your buddy’s fingers to medical in case they can reattach them, you take care of him and you do your job so it doesn’t happen to you or anyone else. There’s no room for fear or doubt. You feel it, of course you do, but you can’t think about it or you’ll fuck up and come home in a box. Parker saved my life and he knows I’m alive, but if he saw how fucked up I was? Still am? He couldn’t do his job, he’d be too damn nervous. And maybe it’s pride too. Sometimes it’s all pride. Don’t want them to see this mangled ghost that I’ve become. Sometimes it’s fear that they won’t respect me the same or won’t even fucking recognize me. I don’t know. I just can’t do it.”

Darcy’s fingers curled around his and he looked down at them. Her hand was so soft and warm and small compared to his. “You’re their Sergeant. Whatever else is going on, you’re protecting them because that’s what you do and it’s pretty noble. Did you have anyone to talk to, though? Besides ex-dickhead, obviously.”

“I went to a few groups at the VA, but never talked. Couldn’t. Stopped going. Saw a high school friend at a coffeeshop once.” Bucky’s vision flickered and glazed as he remembered that. “He didn’t recognize me. Looked right fucking through me. I was going to say something and I stared at him for what felt like forever, but he didn’t know me anymore.”

Darcy squeezed his hand and his eyes met hers through the fog of memories. “I know you,” she said with a smile. “I get that I haven’t known you _long_ , but I think I know you pretty well already. And I like you. Maybe you’ve changed, I don’t know, but there are a lot of things about you that are pretty great, dude.” When he didn’t answer, didn’t know what to say, Darcy tipped her head again and said thoughtfully, “You know, I’m a pretty good listener and I could listen to you all day. But if you want to talk to someone who’s been there, my boss Jane’s boyfriend has a really good friend who’s a counselor at the VA in Harlem. Real good guy, they get beers like every other week. Sam Wilson. You know. If you ever feel lonely.”

God, his throat and his eyes were fucking melting from the burn of the tears, but still no sobs, thank god. “Thank you,” he whispered to Darcy. He wasn’t sure she could even hear it, but she must have because she smiled.

Then, she smirked a little and added, “Of course, if you’re lonely in _other ways_ , I volunteer.”

The sudden humor in the middle of a really serious conversation made him snort and shake his head as he tried to quiet the potential laughter. “Really?”

“Um, _yes?_ Best dick I’ve ever held, remember?”

He really did laugh then. It was quiet, but unmistakable for what it was and he squeezed Darcy’s fingers in his as he met her sparkling eyes again. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Oh, please do,” she said in that sly tone. “Toothbrush?”

“Please.”

“Tomorrow we’ll get you some other stuff and maybe some underwear if you _really_ need it. Or you could go without. Like, forever.” She got up and tugged him with her towards the bathroom, not letting go of his hand. He didn’t mind one bit.

\-------------------

He’d had horrible nightmares and insomnia for years, but he was still so tired that he slept solidly that night again, at least until he woke up in enough pain to once more consider that he was dead and in hell. Wakefulness came crashing through his body, scraping at his nerve-endings from his fingertips up his neck and down his left side. He hadn’t even opened his eyes, didn’t particularly want to, just curled into the fetal position with his right fingers digging into his stupid fucking arm trying to work out the pain that he knew would only really be numbed by the prescriptions medications he didn’t have.

He didn’t hear Darcy move, but he felt the couch shift as she sat beside his curled-up body. She laid one hand very tentatively on his left shoulder and he flinched, but didn’t shake her off. She hesitated a moment, then began to gently massage the shoulder. “Bucky? What do you need?”

“A lobotomy,” he groaned.

“How about ibuprofen? That helped the first night, right?”

His jaw was clenched so tight it felt wired shut, so he just nodded his head. She left his side, leaving behind a cool spot on his shoulder where her hand had been that he could sense through his sweatshirt. She returned an eternity later with a protein shake and a handful of ibuprofen. “You’re technically not supposed to take more than two of these at a time, but I gave you four the other night. You looked like you needed them.”

He took all four without a word.

Darcy stayed by his side while he tried and failed to think of anything but the pain. He should have known it would be coming. Being warm had never been enough to chase it away completely before, even if the cold did make it so much worse. Darcy laid a hand on his shoulder again and asked quietly, “Can I help? Should I…the other night when I massaged it, that seemed to help? Or I could distract you?”

“Both,” he gritted out. “Please.”

She began massaging at his shoulder, slow and gentle like she had that first night in the tub, moving down to his fingers, then back up to his neck, down his ribs, over and over. She talked nonstop. It was mostly stuff that went right over his head, things about work and the people there that he had no context for. But her voice was soothing and trying to follow the disjointed stories gave his brain something to think about besides _ithurtsithurtsjustCUTTHEFUCKINGTHINGOFF_.

Eventually, the ibuprofen and Darcy’s hands worked magic and his nerves began to quiet and his muscles began to loosen. It wasn’t gone, it was never _gone_ , but the pain was a dull ache like a cavity that was upsetting but tolerable. When he could stand it, he laid his right hand over hers and met her eyes with his own. “Thanks, doll,” he whispered, barely trusting his own voice.

Darcy just smirked at him, though he thought he could see relief in her expression. “Yeah, massaging the hottest man in my life is a real hardship. Need a massage anywhere else?”

That first night, she’d joked that it was like she’d made him in a lab he was so perfect. There was absolutely nothing perfect about him, he knew that, but he thought of her words because he felt them about her. Like she was perfect. Like he couldn’t have dreamt up someone better to walk through this hell with.

Two protein shakes later and Bucky was walking at Darcy’s side on his own steam across the street and half a block down to a drugstore. He didn’t like letting Darcy spend money on him when she was already giving him a place to crash, but after the second time he hesitated over something and she promptly snapped at him that she could afford deodorant and you need to smell like dude, dammit, he learned to cooperate.

At one point, Darcy sighed mournfully as he dropped a pack of black boxer briefs into their basket, and he dug up enough of his past self to say to her, “Sorry, I left my commando days behind when I gave up pole dancing.”

The looks they got from the other customers as Darcy shouted ‘please tell me you can pole dance’ were gold. He hadn’t laughed that hard in years.

And yeah, it was kind of nice to smell like guy and wear clean underwear again. And plain black sweatpants shaped for someone with a dick. Those were a pretty fantastic upgrade.

Once he felt a little more human, he was worn out and ready to collapse on Darcy’s couch for a long nap, but Darcy stopped him halfway across the apartment with a hand on his arm and a manic grin. “Wait! We have a funeral to attend.”

The funeral, it turns out, was for his horrible clothes. A part of him had been okay with the idea of Darcy making them disappear and letting him just forget that detail, but burning them in the alley behind Darcy’s apartment was pretty damn satisfying, even if it smelled like the garbage he’d been marinating in for over a week. 

When they were satisfied, they trudged back upstairs to Darcy’s apartment and Bucky collapsed on the couch. He had just popped more ibuprofen (Darcy had left the bottle sitting out on the coffee table for him because she was amazing) and was dragging the afghan across the couch when Darcy said, “No sleeping yet! One last thing.”

He looked up as she approached, both hands behind her back. She was biting her lower lip, which she’d painted in bright magenta lipstick today, and her eyes were darting nervously, which only served to make her cuter in his opinion. “So, I kind of snuck this into the basket when you weren’t looking. Here! Present.” She thrust her hands at him and the contents landed in his arms. It was a plush snowy owl, white with big plastic blue eyes and so freaking soft. Bucky raised both eyebrows at Darcy and found her blushing furiously. Her big blue eyes were watering and she looked down at her hands as she swiped at one eye. “I know it’s dumb, but you really look like you need a hug, like, all the time, and I don’t want to smother you in unwanted touching, and I know I feel better when I have something soft and squishy to hold, so…yeah. Have an owl.”

Something in Bucky’s chest turned warm and, owl firmly clasped on his right hand, he reached for her and pulled her into his arms. “Hey,” he whispered into her hair. “Thank you. This is…so amazing and thoughtful of you. I do kind of…need the hugs. And yeah…touching is kind of…I don’t know what to do with it right now. Why are you crying? What’s going on?”

“I just…” Darcy cut herself off and began to cry quiet shaking sobs into his shoulder. Bucky tightened his arms around her, legitimately concerned and bit terrified now, and dragged her into his lap. She came willingly and curled up in a ball in his arms. “It’s just that…you…you’re the sweetest guy I’ve ever met and amazing and…fuck, dude, you almost died in my arms. That’s why I was talking to you nonstop when I was walking you here after I found you, you could barely fucking move and you’re way bigger than me and I knew if you fell again there was no way I’d be able to get you up without help and I didn’t know if an ambulance could have made it in time in weather like that. And…god…and then in the tub when I sort of fell on you? And up close and in the light and stuff and…god, Bucky, I thought you were going to die right there in my tub in my arms. Wait…am I crushing you right now? I don’t want to hurt you and I’m littler than you, but in a bones and muscle kind of way not a weight kind of way.”

“Darcy, no, you’re perfect. Stay right here, doll.” She was kind of heavy with all of her condensed in a ball on his lap like that, but it was like a really fantastic security blanket and he didn’t want her to go _anywhere_. Bucky took a deep breath, his own tears gathering at Darcy’s words and bubbling-over emotions. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that, doll. I’m sorry you had to see me like that. I don’t…I haven’t looked in a mirror and I kind of don’t want to know. Can’t deal with that right now. I’m sorry.”

“You’re _sorry?!”_ Darcy squeaked in outrage, pulling back enough to look at him with massive eyes. “Are you _kidding me right now?!_ I’m not upset because _you_ upset me, Bucky, I’m upset that _you almost died_ and I wouldn’t have gotten to know you and how great you are and what if I’d taken an Uber home like I almost did? Or walked a different route? Or stopped for a drink and gone past an hour later? You would have died and I would have never known you! That’s why I’m upset! I was so fucking scared, I’m still so fucking scared….”

His chest felt really strange and he wasn’t sure if it was because his heart was breaking again or a piece was soldering itself back together. Could it be both? He buried his face in Darcy’s dark curls and pressed a kiss to them. God, they were soft. “None of those things happened, though. You saved me. Darcy, you saved me.”

“B-but…but you’re still sick. A-and…so sad and I don’t know what to do except listen and make jokes and feed you protein and ibuprofen and that’s pretty lame. You d-deserve the best and I’m…n-not the best, not even close.”

“God, Darcy, no, listen to me.” He breathed through her jasmine-scented hair for a moment to gather his thoughts, then said in her ear, “You’re perfect. Since I got home, people have been shoving everything at me except listening and jokes. This is the only thing that’s worked, the only thing that made me feel like a fucking human being again. I’m really fucked in the head right now and I’m sorry that you have to see that, but please, _please_ , don’t be anything else but you. You saved my life and you’ve been so perfect every minute since. Please.”

Darcy looked at him, her blue eyes swimming, cheeks marked by tear tracks and scarlet flushes from crying. “You mean that? You’re not humoring me? I want to help, tell me how to help.”

“You are helping. This is…you are…everything I could have asked for and more in a friend right now. I mean it, okay? And for the record, yes, touching is kind of weird for me, but this and cuddling yesterday and stuff felt really fucking good. And I’m totally going to sleep holding this owl like a fucking five-year-old even though I know you’re going to take pictures. Okay?”

Darcy smiled through her tears. “You really like it? It’s kind of stupid.”

“Are you kidding? I love it.”

“And you really don’t mind me touching you? Within reason, obviously. I’m not a total psycho.”

Bucky sighed wearily, thinking of the fucking mess the last year had been, last few years really, and buried his face in her hair again. When he spoke, it was just a mumble into her neck. “I don’t like being startled. Not since…what happened downrange. And Brock…god. I don’t even know. It’s mostly in my head, I just feel disgusting and pathetic and useless. And some of it…some of it is worse. But you…Darcy, I know you’d never hurt me and you have never made me uncomfortable. You treat me like an actual person, which is really great, and I let you sponge bathe me _everywhere_ when I barely knew you because you’re so good at talking me down. So yeah, I can handle some fully-clothed hugging.”

Darcy tightened her arms around his shoulders and burrowed into his neck. “Oh, sweetheart, you are the opposite of disgusting and pathetic and useless, especially since that sponge bath. Jeez. Seriously, dude, I keep picturing you all jacked and half-dressed in army fatigues and my heart fucking stops. You’re gorgeous _now_ , I can’t even process thinking about what you used to look like that you think this is such a step down. And you are _not_ pathetic or useless, you’re hurt and everybody deserves some help when they’re hurt. If you need to tell someone, you should tell really me what the hell ‘worse’ means, but full-disclosure, anything worse than what I already know about the ex-dickhead might land me in a prison cell for murder.”

“It’s…about him. And it’s…worse. I’ll tell you someday.”

Darcy grumbled something very ominous under her breath while she burrowed her whole body deeper into the hug. He was leaning back into the couch now and curled around her. It was kind of like soothing a very angry kitten and it warmed him right to his bones that she cared about him like this. Wanting him and healing him and itching to defend him. It was completely new and felt so good.

They held each other like that quietly for a minute, then Darcy whispered hesitantly into his neck, “Bucky? Could I…? Nope. Bad idea, Darcy. Forget it.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

Darcy grumbled under her breath, then burst out, “It’s completely inappropriate!”

“Oh, thank god, I could use some of that right now. Please share.”

She snorted at that, then took a fortifying breath and sat up to look him in the eyes. Her cheeks were dry and the blotchiness from crying was starting to go down, but her eyes were molten with emotion, so much that it made his chest feel like it was overflowing just from being trapped in her gaze. “Could I…kiss you? Not for me. That’d be wrong. I just…I want you to know how I feel. I don’t know how to say it, but I think maybe you haven’t been kissed by somebody who actually cared about you in a while and I want you to have that. Just one? And then never again, I promise. Unless you want to again. Because, yeah, I’m not an idiot, I’m totally down with again.”

It was really sad, but he actually couldn’t remember the last time Brock had kissed him. It had probably been something perfunctory because it usually was. Their relationship had involved less and less intimacy and romance over the last year and kissing was pretty delicate for Brock’s taste even early on in their relationship. And between that heart of gold and those pouty pin-up lips, he was willing to bet that a kiss from Darcy would feel really damn nice. Not that he deserved it, but she was actually begging him to let her do it, so he couldn’t really justify turning her down, could he? “Okay,” he said.

Darcy smiled gratefully, sadly, at him and her hands moved from gripping his shoulders to very gently cradling his jaw and twining in his hair. She blinked and the last of her tears took a step back from falling, then she leaned in.

Her lips were so soft, so gentle and slow and tentative. It was just one chaste kiss at first, but her lips lingered, trembling as they brushed his, sending static rippling along his nerve-endings. She was giving him an opening to kiss her back and he did because his lungs had fucking emptied like she’d kicked him in the chest it felt so pure and good. So was so damn sweet and gentle, like he was something fragile and precious that she was very afraid to hurt. When his kiss pressed a little harder and a little longer than the first, Darcy whimpered softly. As they kissed, her thumb stroked so reverently along his jaw and her fingertips carded through his hair and those details alone felt so good his eyes rolled back under his closed lids and he was kissing her again and again, needing this, needing what she was making him feel. Cared for. Treasured. Wanted. Safe. Worthy. Things he hadn’t felt in what felt like a lifetime.

Caught up in the moment, he parted his lips and just barely tasted her lower lip with his tongue. Her lipstick tasted like raspberry and fuck that was good and the _moan_ that came out of her mouth when he did it was better. Darcy pulled away then, but no more than an inch, just enough to gasp for breath and say in a dazed sort of mumble, “Oh my god, I think my heart just skipped a beat. Hang on a sec.”

His lips curved into a smile, a real one, a big, confident, happy one, that happened automatically like a muscle memory he hadn’t realized he still possessed. He was breathing hard too, could still taste her raspberry lipstick. “That good?” he teased.

“Um, _yes._ Are you kidding me? You have ruined me for all other men, you bastard.”

Bucky tangled one hand into her dark silk-soft curls and laid the other over hers on the side of his face to keep it there. Apparently, he’d dropped the plush owl at some point in favor of having both hands on her shoulders. “Well, you’ve ruined me too if it makes you feel better.” Because, yeah. He had _never_ gone from zero to sixty that fast and he was sure she could feel it curled up on his lap like she was, but he was too busy being stunned that his trauma-stunted libido had woken back up to be embarrassed right now. And he didn’t have words for what she’d just told him in that kiss, he got why she’d asked to kiss him rather than try to verbalize it, but he could _feel_ the way she cared for him and wanted him. All that teasing had literally been Darcy’s actual unfiltered thoughts, he believed that now. The compliments, the flirting, the come-ons…she’d bothered to voice them because she knew it would make him feel good to hear them, but she’d also _meant them_.

“I’m going to…go over there…and…collect myself,” Darcy said. She hesitated, though, not moving, and added, “In a second. I think I’d trip over the coffee table if I tried to walk away right now.”

He opened his eyes to study her. Her eyes were still shut, dark lashes fanned out over her flushed cheeks, and her face was slack, lips just barely parted as she breathed. She did look in need of a minute of ‘collecting.’ Or another kiss. One of the two. “No rush. I’m not exactly tired anymore.”

Darcy smirked like the cat that got the cream and opened her eyes then to meet his gaze. Her pupils were blown and fuck he wanted to kiss her again. “I can tell. But you’re in kind of a…vulnerable place right now and I don’t want to push, so…yeah, I’m going to…attempt to walk away. But you totally have a free pass to kiss me whenever the hell you want, dude.”

“That’s probably fair. One more?”

“ _Fuck_ , yes.”

It probably didn’t count as one, technically speaking. Parting his lips to taste her lipstick one more time before he let her go probably counted as a second. But, neither of them complained, not even when Darcy did, in fact, trip over the coffee table and barely retain her footing as she vacated the couch. She just winked at him as he laughed and said, “Told you. Ruined.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can thank scarletnerd05 for that kiss. They pointed out to me in a comment that part of Darcy's joking and flirting during the tub scene could be coming from her trying to deal with being upset over how close to dying Bucky was and poof: this happened. Thanks, friend! <3


	4. Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts in Darcy's POV and switches to Sam's when he enters the story. Honestly, I'm not sure how I feel about it (mostly, I think, because there's less Bucky in it), but the cursed Plot insisted it had things to do. Next chapter will be back to Bucky's POV (at least partly) and will introduce a few more peripheral characters. Thanks again for all the lovely comments and please keep them coming! They really make all the difference.

Within a few hours after the _KISS_ ¸ it became clear that Darcy could not avoid returning to the lab tomorrow. Jane had been texting and emailing her nonstop the last forty-eight hours and now that she was so thoroughly distracted by Bucky, who she’d decided was incapable of not being adorable every second of the day, she couldn’t even get anything done from home. She had to go back to the office. First thing tomorrow morning. Or else.

There was exactly one thing that was succeeding in distracting her at this point, the only thing keeping her from just snuggling on the couch with an unconscious Bucky indefinitely, and it was not work or Jane. It was research.

Darcy was a boss at research. It was kind of her thing, among other things like caretaking and pop culture and political science and social media. She loved it and she was good at it and she really couldn’t help it sometimes. Like now.

Bucky had given her very little to go on for beginning her research in how to help him ( _SOMEONE had to help the poor guy_ ), but there were some things she did know. He had severe scar tissue buildup that, according to the Internet, was probably actually getting worse over time. The massages had been a good idea and she was going to keep that up for sure. Apparently, massaging scar tissue didn’t just help with short-term pain, but could also reduce the severity of the condition long-term. There were lotions and things you could rub into the scars too for pain management and to break down the scar tissue so it behaved more like muscles were supposed to. She checked the website of the drugstore across the street and made plans to pick up a jar of the brand that had the best reviews, possibly that afternoon while Bucky was still asleep.

Bucky had hinted that his injury had happened around a year ago and she wondered what the hell the VA had had him doing for pain management since then. Clearly not enough considering how severe his scar tissue buildup was and how he hadn’t mentioned _anything_ that helped that she wasn’t already doing. Why didn’t he know about the lotions? He ate ibuprofen like candy, but the Internet didn’t immediately suggest oral painkillers as suitable solutions. Darcy supposed, though, that most people nowadays threw oral painkillers at everything, even if that sometimes meant that they just masked the real problem. She hoped he hadn’t been on overpriced, addictive prescription painkillers, but she had a nasty feeling that that had definitely happened at some point in the last year. The way he didn’t bat an eye at such high doses of ibuprofen was the most obvious indicator of that. He certainly didn’t have access to such things now, though, and she really hoped he hadn’t been suffering through withdrawal while he was on the street.

Was there more she could do for the pain beyond the massages and the lotion? Apparently steroid injections were a thing, but that didn’t sound fun at all for a guy who’d had a really nasty experience with doctors. Surgery was also a possible course of action, but Bucky had probably ruled that out after it was the surgery that put him in such a mess. Maybe someone at work would have a contact who could help her. Stark Industries had their hands in a dozen different science pies, not just astrophysics, and she was fairly sure she’d heard mention of a bio-med lab somewhere in Stark Tower. More research, now on SI’s website, turned up that there was indeed a bio-med research lab three floors away from Jane’s lab. It was chaired by a Dr. Helen Cho and they did all kinds of work in vaccine research, stem-cell research, improving surgical procedures, and even cellular regeneration.

She was going to get a consult with Dr. Cho. She didn’t know how, but being an SI employee had to be an angle she could work, right? Maybe Jane knew Dr. Cho and would introduce her. If not, Jane definitely knew Pepper Potts who definitely knew Dr. Cho because she’d hired her and must work with her all the time on department head type stuff. She could make this happen. And Bucky didn’t have cash or insurance, obviously, but SI was always doing community outreach work and she knew that when non-employees were involved in information-sharing, they were _paid_ , and really well, certainly not _charged_ for the privilege of SI’s help. Tony Stark, SI’s majority shareholder, loved to stick it to the government at every opportunity and had a thing for veterans. If she got the right attention from the right people, she was pretty sure that SI would be jumping at the chance to help Bucky and might even make a thing of it so they could help other vets like him. Maybe she could spin this to Dr. Cho as an opportunity to develop better treatments for scar tissue buildup? Or a case study in how to reverse complications from traumatic surgeries and lackluster follow-up care? 

That was one of many things she was upset about. How the hell had the VA let it get this bad? Bucky should have been seeing a medical doctor regularly for post-surgical follow-ups and pain management, but she’d only been partially joking when she’d asked if he’d had the surgery done in an alley in Mexico City. His entire body was a wreck from an obviously cheaply-done surgery, poor recovery, complications, and overcompensating for pain. And she refused to believe that he’d managed to go from strong enough to fight a war to nearly dead of starvation in the _week_ he was on the streets. Bucky had said himself that he’d been losing weight since he got back from Afghanistan a year ago. Someone should have noticed his weight dropping sooner and flagged him for malnourishment or an eating disorder, sent him to a nutritionist or a therapist.

Don’t even get her _started_ on that.

That poor puppy dog of a guy should have been seeing a VA therapist weekly since he got back from Afghanistan, but he’d admitted to only attending a few group sessions where he never spoke. If he’d been getting decent mental health treatment, maybe he wouldn’t be this depressed. Maybe someone would have recognized sooner that he was _obviously in a horribly abusive relationship with a total dickface_ and gotten him help. 

At the least, Bucky’s ex, _Brock_ , was insanely emotionally abusive, convincing no joke the hottest man Darcy had ever met that he was unattractive and unworthy of being wanted. And, based on the fact that this jackhole was capable of abandoning Bucky on the streets in January, and the fact that she could tell by the uneven way the bruises and wounds Bucky bore had either healed or festered that some of those injuries were over a week old, as in he’d gotten them _before_ landing on the streets, _Brock_ was almost certainly physically abusive too.

She couldn’t stop replaying Bucky’s words from earlier about touching _._ She’d known within minutes of meeting him that Bucky’s psychological state was inside-out and backwards and he didn’t always flinch when she reached for him or touched him, but he did often enough to make it clear that it was a source of anxiety for him. Then, when they’d actually talked about it earlier that day, he’d flat-out admitted more than once that touching was complicated for him. He _didn’t know what to do with it._ He _didn’t like to be startled_. He felt _disgusting, pathetic, and useless._ And there was something worse, too, something Brock had done to really unsettle him…he’d said as much. There was a reason he never flinched when she was joking or flirting with him and a reason he did when she was quiet or serious. The flattery and humor were different enough from that _worse_ experience to bely his triggers. And people didn’t just use the words _something worse_ to describe why they didn’t like being touched unless it was really serious because they knew how _bad_ that sounded. It sounded like physical abuse or sexual assault or something really horrible that she was going to need to kill that monster _Brock_ over.

Well, if she ever met this _Brock_ fuckface in person, she was totally going to take the opportunity to tase him, bare minimum. Probable dismemberment. Possible murder. If she told Jane everything, she knew that her best-friend-slash-genius-boss would help her dispose of the body. They could cut him up and give him to Dr. Cho in pieces saying that he was a stiff ‘donated to science’ and make him disappear. Although, Darcy really wanted to make sure the fuckhead didn’t get cloned or something. That would be a disservice to the world. Maybe they could dissolve him in a bathtub full of lye? If the crime shows she’d seen were even close to accurate, _Brock_ would be liquid enough within a matter of hours that they could just unplug the drain and watch him swirl away. It probably wasn’t environmentally-friendly to dispose of that much lye that way, though. Jane would know a better way.

Darcy’s phone buzzed with yet another probing question from Jane. She typed out a response swearing to Jane that she’d be in the lab by six a.m. tomorrow, Saturday and all, with a full explanation. That was finally enough to get Jane to stop with the constant texting, thank god. She’d told her some of the bare details about Bucky and the situation, but was saving most of it for in person, including the photo she’d shamelessly snapped of him sleeping on her couch clutching the plush owl, just like he’d expected her to. 

The guy was cute incarnate, okay? She wanted to dump a barrel of puppies over him and drown him in love and softness until he stopped looking so damn sad. And he’d basically given her permission.

While Bucky slept the afternoon away (that dude could _sleep_ ), Darcy gave up on work entirely for the day and threw together a sweet kugel because it felt good to go through the steps of imitating one of her grandma’s recipes and she needed to do something productive. When the kugel was in and she had nothing left to busy herself with except worrying over Bucky, she gave in and texted Sam.

Darcy had met Sam Wilson a few times when Jane had invited Darcy to things Thor had invited Sam to, like their New Year’s Eve parties. Sam was good people and would have valuable advice. She wouldn’t tell him anything she didn’t think Bucky would want her sharing, which was basically all the details, but she really needed some guidance here, at least in how to get Bucky to talk to Sam, who was so much better at this than her.

_Darcy: Hey Milk Chocolate, got a minute to give a girl some advice?_

_Sam: I always have a minute for you, Vanilla Pudding. Dare I ask what kind of advice?_

_Darcy: I have a friend who needs help. Like…your kind of help._

Sam didn’t reply for several minutes, but, finally, Darcy’s phone rang in her hand. She picked up immediately, looking in Bucky’s direction wide-eyed, but he hadn’t moved a muscle. He slept like the dead sometimes, but when that happened, he always seemed to wake suddenly so if she wanted to avoid that she needed to be smart. “Hey. Hang on a sec.” She hurried to her bedroom, shut the door, and turned on her stereo at low volume, just enough to turn her voice into white noise and hopefully not disturb Bucky. “Hey, Sam.”

“There’s my favorite scientist wrangler,” Sam said in that easy drawl. There was a bit of a professional tone there that Darcy only heard when they had really serious conversations, though, enough to tell her that Sam had put his counselor hat on. “As much as I love hearing from you, I gotta ask. Does this have to do with you missing two days of work? Thor told me Jane said you’re helping a friend, but she’s worried about you.”

Darcy cringed. “I know, I know. I’m going in first thing tomorrow. He was in really bad shape, Sam. Really bad.”

“What can you tell me?”

Darcy bit her lip, turning the situation over in her head. “I suggested he talk to you, casually like, as someone who would get it. He’s a vet. He seemed open to it, but he’s been totally alone since he got back from deployment and he has some pretty valid reasons not to trust the VA, so I don’t know if he’ll actually do it. I’m doing everything I know how to do, but I’m not exactly an expert here and I’m really scared for him.”

“Do you think he’s dangerous to himself or to you?”

“Not to me,” she said immediately, realizing that she’d been pacing when that question made her stop in place. There wasn’t a single doubt in her head about _that_. “Absolutely not me. The poor guy wouldn’t hurt a fly. Himself maybe, though…he said he’d thought about it. He’s in bad shape, Sam. In his head and physically too. What do I do?”

“What have you been doing? You’ve had the guy staying with you for two days, right? You must be doing something right if he hasn’t gone elsewhere.”

Darcy wanted to cry suddenly. Her eyes were burning and she just wanted to scream in sadness and frustration. Bucky didn’t _have_ anywhere else to go. “He’s still here because I’m his last shot and he knows it. I’ve been listening, making sure he eats and sleeps, joking with him, talking to him like a person. Flirting with him. I’m probably not supposed to do that, but he really kind of needs it right now. I know that look. He’s used to hearing really terrible things about himself and he’s repeating them in his own head.”

“It sounds like you’re being yourself, which is the best thing you can do,” Sam said. “Why are you calling me? Did something happen?”

“Not really, I just…Sam, he almost died that first night. That’s how I found him. And he….” Darcy cut herself off with a sniff, trying to hold back the tears. She slumped on the end of her messy bed and held her head in her free hand as she all but whimpered into the phone, “Sam, he told me I should have _let_ him die. He had totally given up. And he’s trying, I can see it, but…god, I just…he’s such a good guy who’s been through such horrible shit and I just want to cuddle him and keep him safe until he feels better.”

Sam’s voice had gone utterly serious when he spoke again. “Darcy. We’re not talking about a long-term friend who hit a rough patch, are we? This is a homeless vet you met the other night and took in. Why is this the first I’m hearing about this? You should have called me over that first night.”

“I didn’t want to break his trust. Sam, they…he’s been out a year and he got out for medical reasons and the VA really fucked it up with him. _Really_ fucked it up. And he hasn’t had a real conversation with anyone who gave a shit about him since then, so I think he’s got just this rat’s nest of negative self-talk in his head and I really don’t want to break what trust he has in me by telling people his secrets.”

Sam sighed. “You’re a really good friend, Darcy.” There was a moment of quiet that Darcy didn’t know how to fill or if she was supposed to. Finally, Sam sighed again and said, “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to be there at eight with some of my momma’s cherry pie that you love because I’m _your_ friend and I’m worried about _you_. Tell him that I’m worried about _you_ because you missed work, which isn’t like you, and have invited myself over to make sure you’re okay for my own piece of mind. All of this is true, you’re not lying to him. He’ll meet me as your friend, not as a VA counselor, we’ll eat pie, and then he’ll know me and can take the first step when he decides he can trust me. Keep doing exactly what you’re doing, though. Just treat him like a regular guy. This isn’t a guy who’s good at accepting help, so you can’t push, okay? You’re an amazing human being, Darcy, and just being yourself is the best thing you can do.”

Darcy groaned, thinking of the last time she’d hung out with Sam in person: Jane and Thor’s rager of a New Year’s Eve party. “You sure about that? Sometimes ‘being myself’ is pretty terrifying.”

“Maybe save the peppermint schnapps and the karaoke for when he’s a little more equipped to handle that. You’re doing great, Darce. Call me if anything changes, otherwise I’ll ring your doorbell at eight.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

\--------------

As Sam got off the subway in Hell’s Kitchen, box containing his momma’s cherry pie in his hands, he mused that he was a damn good friend. His momma tended to make him way too many pies considering that he didn’t burn calories the same way now that he wasn’t active duty anymore, but still. It was his momma’s cherry pie and rather than eat it all himself in his beloved apartment in south Harlem, he was hauling it halfway across Manhattan to brighten Darcy’s day and provide himself with an excuse to evaluate her houseguest for suicidal tendencies. Yeah, this was exactly what he wanted to do on a Friday night.

Well, it wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t like he’d ever say ‘no.’

Sam deliberately refused to build expectations of Darcy’s new friend because he didn’t want to make assumptions and have the guy think this was an intervention. All he knew was that he was a veteran and he needed help. When Darcy let him into her apartment at eight, though, he found himself really wishing he’d asked for more information to prepare himself with, though, because he was calling on every ounce of people skills he had to override his pararescue training, which was screaming at him _get me evac for this guy asap._

He looked half dead. No joke, he looked half fucking dead.

_Bucky_ , as Darcy introduced him, was leaning against the back of her couch when Sam entered the apartment, physically as tall and broad-shouldered as Sam, but with posture that betrayed how physically and emotionally weak he was feeling. He looked _shrunken_ , diminished somehow. Most of him was hidden in sweats, but his face was sunken, almost skull-like, and marred by a colorful collection of bruises and broken skin that looked to be coming out on the other side after an infection. He also had a ragged stubbly beard and short brown hair that didn’t quite count as short anymore hanging in a mess across his forehead. Not taking care of himself lately, maybe hadn’t had a haircut since getting back. His smile was polite when they shook hands, but he had that thousand-yard stare that had Sam thinking that even though he had all four limbs, which was more than a lot of the guys Sam worked with, Bucky must have earned his discharge the hard way. Darcy had mentioned him being med-boarded out and Sam wondered what for. He seemed to be moving a little stiffly and was keeping his left arm pretty firmly at his side, hand in pocket. Maybe it was actually a prosthetic and Sam had been wrong about the four limbs, or it was in bad shape, too damaged to hold a rifle anymore. Regardless, this was obviously a man who had looked death in the face a few too many times. 

So yeah, he could see immediately why Darcy had sounded so scared and upset on the phone, but it wasn’t just Bucky’s obviously poor condition.

It was the way they _looked at each other._ You could cut the sexual tension in the air with a spoon and eat it like ice cream, that’s how bad it was. They weren’t sleeping together _yet_ , but something physical had happened and, knowing Darcy, a hell of a lot of flirting too. And Sam had hoped that Bucky would buy his friendly concern for Darcy as a reason to trust him, but he hadn’t expected the look of respect and gratitude he got from Bucky when he explained that he was stopping by to make sure Darcy was taking care of herself. It was clear that Bucky knew Sam was there to check up on _him_ in some way and he was glad that Sam was making sure that Darcy was safe. He cared about Darcy more than he cared about the security of his temporary sleeping space. And he watched her like a _hawk_ , grey eyes going molten every time she met his watchful gaze. Sam was oddly reminded of animals that imprint on their mates or caretakers, that was the level this was at. And Darcy? Darcy was oscillating between treating this guy like her BFF that she’d been sitting around making sex jokes with for twenty years and _accidentally hip-checking a barstool because she was so busy undressing him with her eyes._

What was his life?

Sam served up three slices of cherry pie and they sat on Darcy’s couch together eating and talking. Sam thought of avoiding asking Bucky anything because he didn’t want to put him on the defensive, but not asking would seem suspicious too, so he asked how Bucky and Darcy became friends, claiming that Darcy hadn’t mentioned Bucky when they’d hung out before.

“She saved my life,” was Bucky’s answer. The words were quiet, but firm, no exaggeration or room for arguing. His eyes were on Sam when he said it, but they strayed to Darcy immediately thereafter, who was looking back with tears in her eyes. “She found me on the street. Everyone else kept walking and I’d kind of given up, but she stopped. Gave me her hat and coat and dragged me here to warm up and get healed.”

Well, he wasn’t going to miss that opportunity. Sam leveled a glare at Darcy and asked with very real exasperation, “And why the hell didn’t you call me? I have battlefield medical training and more nonprofit contacts in this city than everyone else you know combined.”

Darcy bit her lip hard and blushed, eyes dropping to her hands. “I don’t know. I thought about it. I just….” She hesitated, then looked to Bucky, who was watching her search for words with zero expectation in his expression. “I didn’t want to freak you out. You only really seemed comfortable when I was treating you like a regular person and I didn’t want to wreck that by bringing in a trained counselor.”

Bucky shook his head at her, as if to dispel any notion that she could push him too hard. “It’s okay, doll. I told you I needed to be talked to like a human and I meant it. You did everything right.”

_Doll?!_ Did he seriously just call Darcy _doll?!_ Darcy, who had once spent a summer running a Pure Romance business in what little free time she had to raise money for Planned Parenthood? And Darcy fucking _blushed_ and _smirked_ like a schoolgirl. Was he dreaming this? Was he in some alternate reality?

Eventually, Bucky started asking Sam questions, small-talk things like where he served because Darcy had mentioned that he was a vet, what he did at the VA, etcetera. They were seemingly meaningless questions, but Sam recognized that they were reconnaissance and he hoped that he passed whatever inspection Bucky was conducting.

When Darcy carried their dirty plates and forks to the sink and began washing them, Bucky watched her go, then snapped his eyes back to Sam, suddenly looking much more clear-headed than he had at any other point in the evening. “I know what this is,” Bucky whispered. “I’ll talk, but only if you also talk to her. I’m a fucking mess and I don’t want her to be the next person I hurt.”

“What does that mean?” Sam asked, on guard suddenly. He was one-hundred percent on board with helping Bucky, but not at Darcy’s expense.

Bucky’s jaw looked to be made of stone as he answered in a bitter whisper, “It means I’ve said and done things I’m not proud of. Everything I touch turns to ashes and she’s already so attached to me. Talk about me behind my back all you want, I’ll sign whatever, I don’t care, but please…take care of her.”

Sam nodded his understanding. He’d worked with plenty of vets who came home a different person and struggled to navigate civilian relationships. What had sounded like a red flag at first was sadly nothing unusual. “I can do that. I want you to start by calling me tomorrow to schedule an appointment and then you can call me any time you need to talk, alright? My job’s a lot easier when you call me before things get messy.” He dug one of his VA cards out of his wallet and offered it to Bucky. 

Bucky took the card, steel-blue eyes scanning it, then nodded. “Fine. I don’t have a phone right now, but I’ll do my best.”

“Dude, you need a phone. You can’t even apply for jobs if they don’t have a way to call you.”

Bucky grimaced and focused his attention on the card as he said softly, “I have one…in theory. It’s at my ex’s. With everything else.”

What…in the actual…fuck? Sam blinked, then the protective anger took over the astonishment as the twisting in his gut turned to lead. “Were you homeless because your ex _threw you out_?” How was that even possible? How had he not had anywhere to go or anyone to call? Although, if he didn’t have his phone…but how was that even possible?

Bucky bit his lower lip and tucked the card in his sweatshirt pocket. “That’s about how Darcy reacted. I didn’t give her details, not yet anyway, but yes. He drove me halfway across the city and pretty literally kicked me out of his car with empty pockets. He wasn’t exactly boyfriend-of-the-year material, so I really should have had my guard up, but I didn’t see it coming and he fucked me over. I don’t know if he even has my stuff anymore, so I’m kind of counting it all as lost.”

“That is _horseshit_ ,” Sam said firmly, completely forgoing whispering under the sound of running water. When Darcy immediately shut off the water and Sam felt her eyes on him, he directed his attention at her. Bucky wasn’t looking at him anyway. “Do you have a plan to get his stuff back? We need to get his stuff back.”

“Right?!” Darcy said, jumping to life. Her eyes were wild with righteous fury and she moved back to the living room to stand by the end of the couch, within arm’s reach of Bucky but not quite touching. Sam was certain that was deliberate. “I offered to go there and tase the bastard so he could grab his stuff. Want to help? You’re big and scary.”

Before Sam could agree whole-heartedly to that, Bucky buried his face in his hands and groaned wearily, “Doll, I don’t want you anywhere near him. That’s why I didn’t okay this.”

“I’m not scared of that fuckstick,” Darcy growled. Sam had heard about her tasing Thor by mistake once, but he’d never seen her like this. It was pretty terrifying. “I would love an excuse to tase his ass into next week. If Sam comes with us, and maybe Thor, we wouldn’t even have to tase him we could just say menacing things.”

Bucky scrubbed his face like he was fighting a headache and argued quietly, “Darce, no. Brock works private security and he’s an aggressive asshole. Sam’s built, but he’s not going to scare him and one more guy isn’t going to cut it either. We’re not doing this. I can live without my stuff.”

“You haven’t met Thor, have you?” Sam asked pointedly. “Guy’s seven feet tall and _jacked_. He does MMA fighting for the _fun of it_ and is former Special Forces. Most chill guy I know, but if someone starts talking shit and acting aggressive, Thor’s your man to put him in his place.”

“I can’t,” Bucky said, so softly Sam barely caught it. It was a broken whisper, a final word carried on a cold wind. And, just like that, several very important pieces fit into place in Sam’s mind. Here was the Bucky that Darcy had been worried about, the one who had told her she should have left him to die. He’d been abused and broken by his ex, at the very least emotionally and probably in other ways too if this guy was capable of leaving him to freeze and starve on the street. Maybe this had been about PTSD or war wounds a year ago, and maybe it still was to some degree, but the very immediate problem was that someone had taken a sledgehammer to Bucky’s core beliefs and left him with little more than the ‘rat’s nest of negative self-talk’ Darcy had described.

“Then we won’t,” Darcy said softly. She slowly lowered herself to perch on the arm of the couch, inches from Bucky. “Not if you’re not ready.” She held out an open hand between them and Bucky took it without looking at her. His left hand, which had been in his pocket for most of the evening, bore some brutal-looking scars and his pinkie and ring finger were not all there. Despite this, he squeezed Darcy’s hand hard enough to whiten his knuckles and she squeezed back. 

“I just…I just can’t. I can’t see him.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. That’s your call.”

Sam wasn’t sure if Darcy caught the way Bucky’s body tensed in response to her words, but he definitely did. It wasn’t uncommon for vets to struggle to reacclimate to civilian life without someone around to give them orders. This looked like something more, though, and Sam’s gut twisted as he wondered just how far the abuse from Bucky’s ex had gone. He was fairly certain just from this that there had been a control issue going on. “You have a right to your stuff, man,” Sam said softly. “I haven’t been where you’ve been, but you gotta realize that if he does still have it, he’s not going to for much longer.”

Bucky shook his head once, an odd, jerky motion. “I know that. And maybe he still has it and I could get it back, but I don’t know if that’s worth…whatever he’ll say to me. What he’ll do.”

Jesus. The guy was afraid to ask his ex for his phone, wallet, and personal effects because of what _he might say to him._ The only good thing here was that he had enough self-preservation not to go back to the ex and that was a small consolation prize when you remembered that this guy had been tough enough to be active duty in Afghanistan only a year ago. The amount of damage that had to have been done to his confidence and emotional durability since then was staggering.

Darcy pulled Bucky’s hand up and kissed his scarred knuckles. “Look at me, Bucky.” Bucky hesitated, but lifted his head finally and met Darcy’s hard blue gaze. “We’re not doing anything you’re not comfortable with. If you can’t see him right now, that’s fine. But if he so much as looked sideways at you, I would _murder him._ I know I don’t look like much, but I’ve got a lot of rage and what he did to you is _not_ acceptable. You didn’t deserve that.”

But Bucky just dropped his head to his right hand again, his whole body drooping like a battered ragdoll.


	5. Show Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter, but it is definitely its own thing and I couldn't bear to wait on uploading it. I think you'll be happy I didn't. Thank you all so much again for the lovely comments!

Sam stayed for another hour or so, drinking hot cocoa with them when Darcy made a pot and pretty obviously on the clock, dark eyes constantly analyzing them. Bucky was grateful for it and he hoped Sam could see that, but he didn’t know what to say out loud. He was especially glad to know that Darcy had such good friends. While it was pretty clear that Sam was partly there to assess Bucky and offer his counseling services, which Bucky would probably accept at some point, it was also clear that he was there to make sure Darcy was okay, not hurt or sick or in danger. And they clearly got along, which meant that if Darcy did get hurt trying to fix him, Sam could help her. So that was good, and the hot cocoa tasted amazing, Darcy had made it on the stovetop with milk, a massive chocolate bar and a dash of rum. Still, though, his guts were twisting and wrenching, maybe from the rich cocoa, but more likely from the thought of seeing Brock again.

_You’re not fucking worth it. Useless, pathetic piece of trash._

_Baby, I want you, but I cannot get off looking at that mess. Keep your shirt on._

_Don’t be stupid, I didn’t mean that last night. Grow a pair._

_You are such an ungrateful waste of skin. I work hard to support us and take care of you and I don’t ask for anything in return even though all you do is lay on the couch whining all day._

_I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I shouldn’t have hit you. I had a really shitty day at work and I just lost my temper. It won’t happen again, I mean it this time._

_What? Your bony ass can’t handle a little rough play anymore? You’re fine._

That memory actually made him flinch and he set down the mug before he accidentally dropped it.

When Sam left, Bucky sank into the couch, completely drained. He’d stashed the plush owl Darcy gave him under the throw pillows while Sam was there, but he pulled it out now and clutched it to his aching stomach, eyes glazed as he tried to block out Brock’s goddamn voice in his head. He didn’t notice Darcy sitting beside him and heard her ‘hey’ as if from underwater. Then she laid a hand very softly on his elbow and said, “Look at me, handsome.”

That surprised him enough to pull him out of the water and he blinked a few times, then looked to her with a frown. Darcy quirked an eyebrow at him. “Yes, you. Did you think I was talking to the owl? He has blue eyes too, but they’re not nearly as pretty.”

Bucky blinked a few more times, still frowning and speechless. Darcy’s compliments in her calm, matter-of-fact voice were so unlike what had been in his head a minute ago that he felt like he had whiplash.

Darcy sighed and pressed her lips tight together. Behind her glasses her dark blue eyes were swirling with a mix of emotions he couldn’t name. The sadness and fear he recognized and knew, but the rest he was at a loss for. “You’re scaring me,” she whispered. “I was going to go back to work tomorrow and I need to know you’ll still be here and okay when I get back or I can’t do it.”

“Is that what you want? Me here?”

“Of course, that’s what I want,” she answered immediately, pain rippling across her face. “I care about you. I want you in my life and I want you to be okay.”

The first response which came to mind was that him being okay was a pretty tall order, but he didn’t voice it. That would only hurt her. Instead, he looked down at his hands, one from the man he used to be and the other a broken, twisted caricature of the original. The damage to his arm and shoulder might have gotten him med-boarded on their own, but it was the hand that sealed the deal. It would have been pretty tough to make killshots at half a mile out when he couldn’t hold a rifle steady anymore.

When he didn’t say anything for several long moments, Darcy stroked his arm with her thumb and asked, “Can I hug you?”

The words didn’t come when he tried to voice them the first time. He had to clear his throat. “Yeah, doll.”

Darcy folded her legs under her on the couch and shuffled closer to kneel right beside him, arms slowly wrapping around him and enfolding him. She was so warm and soft and gentle that it felt like the best kind of blanket. He breathed a shuddering sigh and felt some of his muscles relax in her embrace, as if some subconscious part of him knew he was safe with her holding him. He let his head drop to the side and buried his face in her brown curls. She smelled faintly of jasmine and of the kugel she’d made for dinner, which was a good memory because it had tasted amazing and involved him having a reason to ask Darcy about herself and learn that she wasn’t religious, but had a Jewish grandmother who she loved very much and who had taught her to cook. His arms were trapped at his sides by her hug and he wasn’t about to change that, but he did raise one hand to lay over hers and both keep her there and feel her skin on his. He’d noticed that first night when she bathed him that she had very soft, delicate hands, hands made for romance, and despite everything else a part of his brain went offline when it deigned to wonder whether the rest of her skin felt like that. 

Darcy pressed a long kiss to his temple and stayed there, possibly inhaling the smell of his hair or trying to make herself believe this moment was real, two things he was currently doing and not about to fault her for. “I care about you,” she finally whispered. “I think you’re a really amazing person and if I came home from work tomorrow and you weren’t here, I’d be crushed because I really need you in my life. Please stay with me. Let me help you. Please?”

He couldn’t resist and pressed a tiny kiss to the bit of skin where her neck curved into her shoulder, so soft she might not have felt it. She did feel it, must have because her breath hitched when he did it. “Only if that’s what you really want. I can’t hurt you.”

“Then don’t leave. Please. I can’t watch you walk away knowing where you’ll end up.”

He snaked his free hand out from between them and wrapped his arm around her, pressing her body to the side of his. His chest ached with the pain and the hope as they fought each other, pressing against his ribcage with their violence. “Then I’ll be here. I promise.” A whimper slipped from Darcy’s lips in the same moment her shoulders twitched, like she was holding back a sob. His heart wrenched and he pulled her in closer, dragging her into his lap where she’d been earlier that day. She came willingly and curled into his chest, arms tight around him like she was afraid he’d disappear. When was the last time someone had been that afraid to lose him? It had to have been Parker, panicking and crying, carrying his mangled body to the LZ. Before that…maybe his mom the first time he deployed? “Shh. I’m not going anywhere, doll, I promise. I’m here. You saved me, remember? You’re stuck with me now.”

Darcy snorted at that and mumbled into his neck, “Oh, poor me. Stuck with the sweetest, hottest guy I know.”

That got him to snort. “Now I know you’re lying. Sam’s definitely hotter than me and now I’ve been told that Thor is seven feet tall and jacked.”

Darcy scoffed and pulled away just enough to look him in the eye, putting her face inches from his. “Pssh. Yeah, they’re hot, but not like you.”

“Not pathetic enough?”

“Don’t talk to yourself like that. It’s mean. You’re the toughest guy I know.” When Bucky gave her a skeptical look, Darcy shook her head in amazement. “I wish you could see it. No way Sam or Thor or anyone else I know would have survived what you did and you did it _alone._ Ex-dickface doesn’t count, he made things worse and yes, telling someone that they can’t live without you enough times that they become entirely dependent on you definitely makes things worse. He did you no favors putting you up when you got back. I’m going to take a stab in the dark and say that he was probably the one who convinced you not to call your family after whatever you said to them, right?” Bucky shut his eyes and felt his jaw harden in pain at the memory…and the realization. “Yeah, I figured that, and I’m definitely going to tase him the first chance I get. If you think that Sam or Thor or I or anyone else would have come out the other side of the shitshow you’ve been through, you’re wrong. Knowing how tough you are deep down and that you made a career out of fighting to protect people and taking care of your men and that you’re still so damn sweet makes my chest do weird things. And that handsome face and those fantastic shoulders and those _eyes_. God damn. If you think I know anyone with eyes that gorgeous, you’re _so_ wrong. Seriously, dude. It makes me so sad how thin you are right now because you look fragile and sad and I know you don’t feel good in your guts or your head but even with my brain trying to deal with that I was not joking when I said I about had a coronary that first night seeing you naked. _Fuck._ Come on. You think I’m making this up?”

Bucky chuckled once and shook his head in defeat. “I know you mean it.”

“Good! I guess that’s step one. Come on, I love that cocky bastard that peeks out at me every now and then. Where’s that smirk you gave me after we kissed? Or jokes about pole dancing? Or that fucking adorable blush? God, that about turned me into a puddle.” The memories she called up, memories of feeling human and something close to happy, were enough to pull his lips into a small smile and Darcy beamed, lighting right up like the sun. “That _smile_. Seriously, buddy, I think if you actually put in the effort and flirted with me, my panties would hit the floor so fast they’d end up halfway to China.” A laugh tumbled from his lips and he let his head drop back against the couch as he continued to laugh at the goofy grin on Darcy’s face. “I can’t take credit for that line, it’s from _How I Met Your Mother_ , but it totally applies here,” Darcy admitted, which only made him start laughing again right when he would have quieted. She laughed with him and that made it so much better. She had an amazing laugh, quiet and mischievous and pleased with herself. “I bet you were a _total_ flirt once, weren’t you?”

He nodded, still shaking with the aftershocks of laughter. “Once. One of the guys from my platoon, Dum Dum, he and I would go out when we were between deployments and we’d see who could get the most phone numbers in one night or wingman each other. Had a lot of fun that way.”

Darcy smirked and raised an eyebrow. “How many numbers did you get on your best night?”

He smirked and it must have been something dragged up from the old him by this conversation because Darcy blushed and bit her lower lip as she continued to smirk. It was a really good look on her. “Fifteen.”

“Fifteen?!”

He nodded, smirking a bit more at Darcy’s wide eyes and laughter. “Had to go to six different bars to get them, but it happened. Dum Dum sometimes beat me, but he never got more than eight in one night.”

“Holy buckets, that’s terrifying. You must have been a mastermind at talking to girls. Or guys? Ooh…were you better at picking up girls or guys?”

Bucky felt his cheeks burn with a blush and chuckled. “I was better at girls, but I could do both. That was how I beat Dum Dum so often. He was only after girls, so we joked that there were more fish in my pond. He tried to flirt with a guy once just for argument’s sake. Funniest thing I ever saw.”

Darcy’s eyes sparkled with mirth as she imagined it. “That’s awesome. I’ve never brought a girl home, but I can get phone numbers for kicks.”

His eyebrows shot up, his brain going offline at the image of Darcy flirting with a woman. “Really?”

“Yep. We should go out sometime and play your phone number game. You’d probably crush me, but I promise I’m not a sore loser.”

Bucky tried to imagine Darcy dolled up for going out to collect phone numbers and found he couldn’t, not when he knew her only as the girl who lounged around her apartment in oversized sweats and Chewbacca slippers. The way she felt in his arms hinted that she had curves that killed when she showed them off, though. “I think you’d hold your own.”

Darcy pretended to deliberate that, then said with a smirk, “Maybe, but I’d be too distracted watching you. Can we do this sometime? This is on my bucket list now.”

“Watching me collect phone numbers is on your bucket list?”

“Yep.”

Bucky bit his lip, picturing it, but it had been two years since he played that game and a lot had changed since then. Flirting wasn’t like riding a bike where it just came back naturally, at least not that he knew of. “Maybe. I don’t know if I’d be any good at it anymore.”

Darcy’s smirk didn’t falter, but her cheeks heated up again. “I think you would. If you’re nervous, you’re welcome to practice on me any time.”

He snorted at that and a hint of the smile came back. “That’s very generous of you, doll.”

“Oh, I can promise it’s not.” Darcy winked at him. “So, did you use these phone numbers or just collect them and count up at the end of the night?”

“Used some of them. Not a lot because we didn’t play that game when we were actually looking for someone, but there were a few memorable people that I called the next day and took out.”

Darcy’s smile softened. “You heartbreaker, you. Were you ever in love?”

Something inside Bucky’s chest started to flutter, warm and nervous and insistent. “I don’t think so, not for real. There were one or two that I loved, but I don’t think I was _in_ love with them. Were you ever in love?”

Darcy bit her lower lip and shook her head, a fierce blush on her alabaster skin. “Definitely not.”

“You’re awfully sure.”

Her dark eyes were liquid and her pupils were wide and black. She lowered her gaze and her could feel her eyes on his mouth. “I loved one, but I wasn’t in love with him. I know I wasn’t because I didn’t…need him. There wasn’t that tugging in my chest telling me I needed to be closer when we were apart. There wasn’t any…certainty.”

Bucky stared at her for a moment and began to catalogue the way she looked and felt in that exact moment. He didn’t know for sure where she was going with her words, maybe she didn’t even know, but it felt suddenly crucial to memorize this moment. That shy blush and shameless staring at his mouth, her left hand on his shoulder and her right behind his neck, fingertips just barely in his hair like she was trying to be covert and resist running her fingers through it, her body soft and pliant, happy to be exactly where he was holding her, curled up in his lap. He replayed her words in his head over and over and realized that she’d said she knew she hadn’t been in love with any of her exes because she didn’t _need_ them…but it had only been maybe twenty minutes ago that she’d said she _needed_ Bucky in her life. And she’d used the word _want_ a moment later, but her quiet, desperate tone had screamed _need._

Was he the reason she knew she’d never been in love? Did she have more feelings for him than she’d had for any of her exes?

Did she love him?

Brock had said he loved him, but it hadn’t really felt like it in a long time. He almost never said it when he was looking Bucky in the eye and when he did, he always had this distant, wrong look to him, like he was lying, trying to manipulate him in yet another way. Sometimes Bucky believed it because he had to. He had felt fragile and needed to believe that Brock still loved him, that it was possible for someone to love him. Most of the time, though, he didn’t, and it had been a very long time since he believed anyone else loved him either. He only believed his family had because it was impossible not to believe when he saw the extent of the pain in their eyes that last time they spoke. Only someone you loved could cut you that deeply. He knew that better than anyone. It was then that he’d stopped believing he was worth loving and around six months ago that he’d stopped believing anyone ever could love him with everything he’d become. And Darcy didn’t know all the ugly parts of him, not even close.

But she’d never flinched from the ugly parts she did know. And no one had ever looked at him the way she was looking at him right now. It felt a little like this afternoon when she’d begged to kiss him to show him that she cared about him, but it was different and more. She didn’t say anything and he suspected she never would, that any moment she’d bite her lip and move away because she knew how vulnerable he was right now and she was too good to take advantage of that.

Which is why, before that could happen, he whispered to her, “Show me.”

The words didn’t match up with the part of the conversation they’d been having out loud, but she didn’t look the least bit confused. She hesitated for only a moment, fingers sliding into his hair and feeling so damn good, then she leaned in and kissed him, soft and slow. She was gentle with this kiss, gentle like she always was with him, telling him wordlessly how much she cared and how badly she didn’t want to hurt him. But this time, he could feel the tension in her muscles, the way her lips trembled, the _want_ that she was holding back. And this time, it was not a single press of lips, even if it started that way. This time, it was one kiss after another, kicking the breath from his lungs, then a parting of her lips that urged him to do the same and inhale, and then a brush of her tongue along his lower lip so like when he’d licked her earlier, a tiny thing that she couldn’t resist doing that pulled a groan from the back of his throat and tightened his fingertips on her back. For just a moment, they were sharing breaths and that felt every bit as intimate as her tongue on his lip, then she pressed forward again and teased his tongue out with her own and god, he could drown in her like this, could get completely lost with her tongue in his mouth and forget to breathe entirely.

He cradled the back of her head in his hand, hair like strands of satin threading between his fingers, and held her there as he kissed her back, returning all the caring and want and _need_. Darcy’s breath hitched and he could feel the press of her breasts against his chest as her breathing came more labored in deep inhales only when she reminded herself that she still needed oxygen. He wasn’t any better and the way she felt pressed against him only served to kick his brain further out of commission and he was clutching her to him, dragging her closer so her legs curled around his hip and every inch of her chest was pressed to his. Darcy moaned and the sound rippled right down his spine to his dick, which he was absolutely positive she could feel. Her fingers on his right shoulder tightened and her right thumb stroked his jaw and fucking melted him and he was just focusing on kissing her over and over, telling her wordlessly how damn good that felt while he tried not to cry at what that little touch alone did to him.

He loved her. He absolutely loved her. Loved her humor and sass and gentleness and kindness and generosity and ferocity and how much she loved _him_ when he’d stopped believing anyone ever would again. And he didn’t know exactly where the line between loving someone and being in love with them was, but he knew without a doubt that this was the closest he’d ever been to that line and he’d only known this amazing woman a few days. How could he love her so much it felt like it was bubbling up inside his chest and spilling over when she’d only looked at him with those big, gorgeous eyes for the first time forty-eight hours ago? But he did. Deep in his gut, he knew that he loved her and, more than that, he _needed her_ just as much as she _needed him._

Darcy broke the kiss, both of them gasping for air, her forehead leaning against his and their noses brushing. “Holy shit,” she whispered, voice broken with emotion and lust and breathlessness. “Did you…get it? What you wanted to know?”

“Yeah, doll,” he murmured. “Did you?”

She gulped and nodded, curls bouncing just barely on his shoulder. “Yeah. Tell me again that you’re not going anywhere. Please.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, and he meant it with every cell. As long as she wanted him, and he knew she wanted him now, he was not walking away from her for anything.

Then, she kissed him again and showed him how much she’d needed to hear those words, so he showed her how much he meant them. And over and over.


	6. You Will Always Be My Sergeant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I POSTED TWO CHAPTERS TODAY. If you haven't read chapter five yet, go back and read that first!!!

It was physically painful for Darcy to leave for work on Saturday morning. Bucky was awake to see her off and she didn’t know if that made it better or worse because the way his steel-blue eyes raked over her had her really tempted to skip work and drag him to bed instead. Last night had been amazing. Best kissing she’d ever experienced in her life. In fact, she’d been embarrassingly close to getting off just kissing him for an hour, they hadn’t even gone to second base. But the way he’d held her and kissed her and looked at her and the way he was looking at her now, eyes imprinting her in her high-heeled boots, tights and mini-skirt, and low-cut shirt under her jacket onto his retinas, all of that made it very clear that he wanted her just as much as she wanted him.

And holy shit did she _want him._ She’d only backed off last night and left him to sleep on the couch because she wanted both of them to be one-thousand percent sure when they went farther. Not if, _when_ , because after last night she knew it was a _when._ But she really needed him to be sure and be stable enough _when_ they did this for real because the absolute last thing she wanted was for him to get hurt or become emotionally dependent on her like he had been on Brock. He needed help, yes, but he also needed to know that he could function on his own. At the very least, she wanted to give him today while she was at Stark Industries to think about it and have some time to himself to make sure his head was straight. She hadn’t said that was why she stopped them last night, but she knew he knew it was the reason and he understood. He’d been a pretty independent, self-sufficient guy once from the sound of it and he needed to know he could have that again regardless of what happened with her.

Bucky promised he would be fine on his own until she got home from SI, even if that didn’t happen for twelve hours. Apparently, he basically hadn’t slept, like, _at all_ while he was homeless and couldn’t seem to get enough sleep now. She gave him specific instructions to go to one of her next-door neighbors if he needed anything because they all loved her and had her on speed dial.

“I’ll be fine, doll,” he said, a tiny hint of a smile curling up one corner of his mouth. God, she loved that mouth. “I’m just going to sit on my ass sleeping and drinking protein sludge. Go to work.”

She almost kissed him good-bye and she could see that he was tempted to do it too, but she had a feeling if she did she’d never actually leave. Instead, she blew him a kiss across the room and teased, “Try not to miss me too much.”

Bucky just barely smirked, eyes dark and mischievous. “Doll, you have no idea.”

That was when she forced herself to walk out the damn door. Before she started ripping off her clothes and dragging him to her bed.

Stark Industries was in Midtown, little more than a thirty-minute walk from her apartment in ideal conditions. It was cold out, but the sidewalks were clear and, being an early Saturday morning, traffic was clear too. She stopped for coffee and donuts from the coffeeshop on the ground floor of SI for her and Jane, which she did probably more often than was ideal for her figure but she just didn’t care and Jane needed caffeine and calories. The astrophysics lab was based on the forty-eighth floor with remote access to the equipment Jane had set up on the roof of Stark Tower high above them…assuming nothing was broken. Usually something was broken, but they were pretty good at fixing things and if they couldn’t, Tony Stark himself or one of his interns in R&D was usually happy to help. On the way up, Darcy watched the illuminated number indicating the floor change rapidly and thought of Bucky as she passed Dr. Cho’s bi-med lab. Jane would know what to do.

She stepped off the elevator and entered the astrophysics floor, swiping her SI employee keycard again at the thick-paned glass door just like she had to move the elevator. The door _whooshed_ open and she proceeded directly to where Jane was peering at readings coming from the Whatchamacallit. “I come bearing apology coffee and donuts.”

Jane blinked away the Science and accepted the coffee gratefully, then fully woke up and spun to Darcy with wide eyes. “I have been worried sick about you! Tell me what happened! Is your friend still with you? Why do I not know him? We’ve been friends for eight years!”

Darcy bit her lip and set down the donuts and her coat, then held her coffee in both hands while she sheepishly answered, “He’s kind of a new friend.”

“How do you have a new friend I don’t know about? You’re always here.”

“Well…not when I’m walking home….”

Jane’s eyebrows shot up. “So, when you hung up on me the other night and scared the shit out of me, that was you meeting him? Who is this guy? What happened?”

Darcy took a sip of her coffee and burned her tongue, but it was worth it for the moment to build her courage. Jane was one of the least judgmental people she knew and she didn’t really have a leg to stand on with weird guys because she was dating _Thor_ for crying out loud, but still. Jane’s opinion mattered a lot. “He was in an alley on my way home.” 

Jane’s eyes went wide and she dropped into her chair. “Oh my god, Darcy. Was he homeless? Or hurt?”

Darcy remembered the way Bucky had looked when she first laid eyes on him. She would never _ever_ forget that. He had been _blue_ from the cold, shivering all over, dried blood and bruises on his face and filth on his clothes, cradling his left arm and ribs. He’d already started to put visible weight back on in the last few days, thank god, but that first night he’d looked so gaunt and frail. And those eyes, so confused and pained and hopeless. She never wanted to see that again, but she did every time she fell asleep. “Both,” she said quietly, sinking onto the chair closest to Jane. “If I hadn’t seen him and stopped, he would have died. He had hours left, if that.”

Jane set down her coffee and brought her hand to her mouth, sadness and sympathy in her eyes. “Oh my god. What did you do?”

“He was freezing, so I put my hat and coat on him. I got him up, fuck if I know how, and I got him home to my place. He said he wasn’t hurt bad enough to need an ambulance and to be totally honest, I wasn’t sure calling 911 in that weather would get him help in time. The roads were shit and they were probably swamped with car accidents and whatever else. I took him home and warmed him up in my tub, gave him some soup and Gatorade. Mostly I talked to him. He’d been out there over a week and not a single person stopped to help him.”

“That’s horrible.”

“That’s not the worst part. He’s the sweetest guy I’ve ever met and I’ve met Thor and Sam. And he’s a _vet._ He got hurt in Afghanistan a year ago and has been home ever since, but it was really bad and he got really terrible care.”

“Did you talk to Sam?”

“I called Sam yesterday and he insisted on meeting him. I wanted to call him right away that first night, but I had rapport with Bucky and he really needed to be treated like a regular guy. I didn’t want to risk that by bringing in Sam right away.”

Jane frowned deeply. “I guess I can sort of see why he’d had some trust issues. There’s something else.”

Darcy nodded and felt her jaw turn to stone thinking of the ex-fuckface. “His ex-boyfriend was abusive. Like, a total monster, abusive. All kinds of emotional bullshit and manipulation and I think physical stuff too. When I found Bucky, he had these bruises and open wounds that had festered and he said he got beat up on the street, but some of it looked older, like it was from before he ended up out there. And he said the reason he was out there was his fucking ex drove him across the city and dumped him there. Just _dumped him. Literally._ Like he was _trash_. He had nothing in his pockets, his clothes were definitely not meant for weather that cold, he just _abandoned_ him to die there.”

Jane’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “What’s this guy’s name?”

“First name is Brock. If I had more on him, believe me, I’d have already given him major hell. I’m trying to get Bucky to let me bring Sam and Thor to go to Brock’s and get his stuff for him, but he’s so scared. He’s not ready to face the bastard. I don’t know if he’ll ever be ready.”

Jane scowled. “I get that, but that jackass needs his ass kicked.” She bit her lower lip viciously, then took a deep breath and gave Darcy a calculating look. “As soon as you know more about him, text it to me. I want to help track him down and give him hell.”

“Oh, you’ve got it. Sam wants a piece of him too. I’m recruiting a lynch mob.”

Jane quirked an eyebrow. “I bet Tony would want to get in on that too. He has a soft spot for veterans.”

“I know! Actually, I was thinking about that.” Darcy spun her coffee cup nervously, but proceeded. She had to. “Bucky’s injury. He didn’t tell me exactly what happened, but he has really severe scar tissue all through his left arm and part of his left side too. He’s in pain all the time. Ibuprofen helps a little and I’ve been massaging it when that’s not too weird and that seems to help, but do you think there’s someone at SI who could help him? The VA botched his surgery when he came home and he probably has major issues with doctors, but he’s in so much pain. I was researching Dr. Cho in bio-med…?”

Jane bobbed her head excitedly. “I know Helen. She’s amazing and would be all over that. I don’t know what bio-med does any better than she knows what we do, but I could talk to her for you and get him a consult.”

“He doesn’t have money or insurance.”

Jane gave her a _look._ “One word to Tony and this guy will be getting paid to accept a brand-new arm. Helen’s out for the weekend, but I’ll talk to her on Monday.”

A weight lifted from Darcy’s chest and she exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Jane really was amazing. “Thank you so much. That’ll give me time to run it by him anyway. I don’t want to push. I just hate seeing him in so much pain if there might be something I can do.”

“Of course. Tell me about him! You said his name is Bucky?”

Darcy nodded, an involuntary smile slinking into her expression. “Bucky Barnes. He was a sergeant in the army. He is so sweet and adorable and _funny_ when he wants to be. And _hot._ Like stupid hot, Jane, I’m not even kidding.”

Jane snorted and grinned teasingly at her. “I can tell by the look on your face.”

“Actually….” Darcy dug through her purse and produced her StarkPhone. A moment later, she pulled up the photo she’d snapped of Bucky sleeping with the plush owl yesterday and passed it to Jane. She’d sheepishly shown it to Bucky yesterday and he’d just rolled his eyes good-naturedly and said he’d expected nothing less.

When she saw the picture, Jane squealed and lit up. “Oh my god he’s _gorgeous_! And _so freaking adorable_! Thor’s hot, but I’ve never seen him do anything this cute. Jesus, Darcy, this is better than adopting a stray puppy.”

She couldn’t help it. Darcy grinned like a Cheshire Cat, fully deserved, she thought, and said, “Way better. A puppy wouldn’t kiss nearly as well.”

Jane’s eyes bugged and she grinned eagerly. “Seriously?! Details now!”

So, Darcy told her all about flirting with Bucky, him so obviously appreciating the attention and returning it, and kissing him. “It’s like I created him in a lab,” she gushed, echoing the words she’d said to Bucky that first night and absolutely meaning them. “He’s _perfect._ And he’s so freaking sweet that I just want to smother him in snuggles and soft things until he smiles again because when he smiles, it’s _amazing._ Like I run into things because I get distracted just looking at him, that’s how gorgeous he is and when he smiles, I just go _brain-dead._ Like _beeeeeeeeeeep_ , I just code for a second or two there, dead serious. And the way he _kisses_ , holy fucking _god_ , I can’t even process what something _more_ than kisses would be like because I’d probably just go into cardiac arrest.”

“God, he sounds dreamy. Yum.”

Just then, one of the sensors started screaming at them and they both jumped up to check it. Jane scowled and flicked off the volume on the alert. “Damn thing has been acting up for days. Peter from R&D tweaked it yesterday, but there it goes again.” While Darcy was wondering whether ‘Peter from R&D’ was the new intern Tony had been so excited about bringing on, Jane pressed the button to activate Jarvis, Tony’s AI, for communications. “Hey, Jarvis? Can you patch me through to R&D?”

“ _Certainly, Dr. Foster,_ ” the proper British voice said. A quiet dial tone began ringing.

“Is Peter the new intern?” Darcy asked while they waited.

Jane nodded. “He’s adorable. Young kid, but crazy smart. Tony’s practically adopted him already.”

“Where did he study again?”

“He’s at Columbia on a ROTC scholarship or something. I think he sleeps less than me and you know that’s saying something.”

“Stop breaking my stuff, Foster,” Tony said over the pager suddenly. “Jarvis sent me your readings. I thought Parker fixed that yesterday?”

 _Parker. Peter. Working an engineering internship while he studied at Columbia on a ROTC scholarship._ Darcy’s brain screeched to a full-stop and her pulse hammered ahead. Could this Peter Parker be the same Peter Parker who was Bucky’s spotter in Afghanistan? The young guy who called him ‘Sergeant Barnes, sir’ and was a whiz at math and was just clocking enough time overseas to get the army to pay his tuition bills at an engineering school? The guy who Bucky had been a mentor to, who he hadn’t contacted after he got med-boarded because he didn’t want to scare him? 

Jane and Tony had apparently continued to talk while her brain went haywire and suddenly, Jane snapped her fingers in front of Darcy’s face. “Earth to Darcy. Tony’s going up to the roof to fix it. Where did you go?”

“The new intern’s name is Peter Parker?” she asked, words tumbling out in a rush.

Jane gave her a sideways look and nodded. “Yeah. So?”

“And he’s young and military?”

“…Yeah? I think Tony said he’s only twenty-one or twenty-two? And definitely military because they’re paying his tuition. Afghanistan maybe? Darcy! Where are you going?!”

But Darcy was full-out running towards the lab door and not slowing down as she called over her shoulder, “He knows Bucky! I have to talk to him _right now!_ ”

Tony’s R&D labs took up five floors of the Tower and the main lab was only nine floors away, but it felt like Darcy stood in that elevator bouncing impatiently for years. Finally, the doors swept open and she rushed forward to swipe her keycard. There were about three dozen R&D employees and interns milling around the large lab working on various projects and she spun around frantically before deciding to just call out, “Peter Parker? I need to see Peter Parker! Is he on this floor?”

Eyes snapped to stare at her, but it was the unfamiliar head of a very young-looking guy that popped up from behind a computer monitor that she cared about. He had big eyes and looked terrified, as if he expected to be in trouble. “Um…that’s me?”

Darcy hurried to his workstation and came skidding to a stop arm’s length away, panting. “You’re the new intern? The military one?”

Peter still looked terrified and wasn’t moving a muscle, as if she was a venomous snake he didn’t want to startle into biting. “…Yes? I served in the army for four years, two tours in Afghanistan. Why?”

Darcy forced herself to catch her breath, then asked the important question, “Were you Sergeant Barnes’s spotter?”

It seemed impossible, but Peter’s big brown eyes actually got wider and he lurched forward eagerly. “You know Sergeant Barnes? I’ve been trying to find him, but the VA lost track of him and he didn’t leave me or anyone else a way to contact him. Is he okay? I know he’s alive, but he was hurt really bad and I’ve been so worried about him…”

Darcy’s eyes burned with sudden tears and she grabbed Peter in a fierce hug. He hesitated awkwardly until she said, “Yes, I know him, and he really needs you. Can I take you to him after work? Oh my god, I’m sorry, my name’s Darcy.”

Peter let out a shocked laugh and hugged her back, then she released him. “Nice to meet you, Darcy. Yeah, can you take me to him? What happened? Is he okay?”

The poor kid looked like she’d told him his own father or brother had been in a car accident he was so panicked. She laid her hands on his shoulders so he wouldn’t bounce right out of his chair. “He’s safe now, but he’s had it really rough. He didn’t contact you or anyone else because he didn’t want to scare you, but he _really_ needs a friend right now.”

Pain rippled across Peter’s face and he wiped at his eyes, which had filled with unshed tears. “I figured. That’s just like him to play tough for us. Especially me. He was always taking care of me. He’s okay physically, though? All they would tell me was that he was alive. I’ve been having these horrible nightmares since that day that he lost his arm or worse.”

Darcy bit her lip to hold in the emotion as her chest caved in. “He still has the arm, but it’s not good. I’m only going to tell you so you don’t freak out when you see him, but I think he had the VA’s worst surgeon and I don’t think they gave him jackshit for follow-up care. Maybe he refused it, I don’t know.”

“Shit,” Peter groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I should have tried harder to find him. I’ve been home for months, I should have found him.”

“I’m sure you tried, that’s not your fault.” Darcy bit her tongue, debating how much to tell Peter. Bucky hadn’t had a lease or a job or anything that would have told Peter where he was. But, no, she wasn’t going to say that. She was already bringing Peter home with her, which would be shocking enough. Bucky could tell him whatever he wanted him to know himself. “What matters is that you’re his friend and you can be there for him now. Right?”

Peter nodded eagerly. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. When can I see him?”

“I missed a few days of work that I really need to catch up on, but I can take you when I’m done here.” Plus, that would give Bucky some time to decompress by himself instead of Darcy showing up unexpected with a bouncing puppy named Peter in tow. “I’ll be here until four, I think. I want to bring you to him asap, but I need to get caught up here and he needs a few hours to rest anyway.”

Peter’s eyes popped. “Rest? How bad is he?”

Darcy cringed. Oops. “He’s going to be okay now, but Peter…it was bad. He’s an amazing guy, but I think he’s going to be a lot more fragile than you’re used to seeing him. That won’t be easy for him.”

“I know,” Peter said immediately. Suddenly, he looked ten years older, a darkness in his eyes that she recognized from Bucky. “He was always bottling things up downrange, trying to be tough for us. He was really good at it, everyone else bought it, but I knew. The last thing I want to do is knock him off-balance. I can handle it. Just let me see him. Please.”

“Of course.” Darcy grabbed her StarkPhone, grateful she’d jammed it in her pocket during her mad dash from Jane’s lab. “Here. Give me your number and we’ll coordinate. If you don’t mind, I usually walk home. We can go together.”

\---------------

While Darcy was at work, Bucky busied himself consuming four protein shakes and half a frozen pizza, watching a few episodes of season one of _Friends_ in an attempt to get better context for Darcy’s favorite show, and getting another five hours of fitful sleep. The sleep was important. Now that he wasn’t half-dead of exhaustion anymore, the nightmares were back, dragging him out of sleep in a cold sweat with a scream rattling in his chest but never quite breaking out. He showered after he gave up on the sleep, then, standing in Darcy’s steamy bathroom, clean and wearing soft new clothes she had given him, he hesitated and stared at the steamed-up mirror. His insides twisted and clenched, his heart raced, and his breath rattled. Then, he wiped the mirror with his towel and faced his ghost.

The bruising was going down, thank god, and he didn’t actually look too much thinner than he had two weeks ago, also thank god. The mess of stubble was unsettling, though, considering he’d kept his face clean-shaven all his life. So was the cornered-animal look in his eyes, but that he was able to box up and ignore. It was nothing new.

He took a shaky breath. He could handle this.

It took less effort than he’d expected to find the partial box of ladies’ razors under Darcy’s bathroom sink. He selected one, raising an eyebrow at the two mostly-useless-looking blades, and swiped her shaving cream from the edge of the tub. He’d managed with worse.

_Christ, Sarge, you know only serial killers do that shit?_

He almost smirked at the memory. He did nick himself twice, though. That was the world’s shittiest razor.

When it was done and he’d washed away the shaving cream and stopped the bleeding from the two nicks and put everything away, Bucky stared into the mirror, by now free of steam. He still looked like hell, but this was a hell he was used to, the ghost he’d looked like in Brock’s bathroom mirror. Better than that, actually, because he didn’t look or feel so afraid or ashamed. It also helped that the only pain he was feeling was that grinding ache in his arm and shoulder. Everything else was healed enough to be nothing worse than cosmetic defects, which was a step up after the last few months living with Brock and always hurting somewhere.

_Don’t go there, Barnes._

He didn’t. Today was going okay and he was not going to fall apart right now. He’d promised Darcy he’d be here and okay when she got back.

When she did get back, it was earlier than he’d expected, only four-thirty. She knocked on the door ( _she knocked on her own door so she wouldn’t startle him_ ), then there she stood, looking nervous and worried. Her shoulders sagged in relief when he stood from the couch and slowly approached her and she smiled just a bit. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he said back. “You were worried about me.”

Darcy gave him a dry look. “I’m always worried about you.” She smirked then and added, “I guess I didn’t need to, though. You look even hotter than you did this morning. It must be the shave.”

She shut the door then, but didn’t lock it, which made the hairs on the back of his neck stand right up. Whenever they’d been here together the last few days, the door had been bolted. Darcy shucked off her coat and hung it on a nearby barstool, then deposited her keys and purse. She was chewing her bottom lip and obviously nervous. Bucky swallowed down the worst of the paranoia and forced himself to ask, “What’s going on?”

Darcy’s eyes snapped to him, looking a little alarmed. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you nervous. I’m nervous because…well…I brought someone to see you. He’s in the hall…I just wanted to give you a minute’s warning.”

“Who?” he choked out. He hadn’t felt this nervous in days and he hadn’t missed it.

Darcy’s expression crumpled in sympathy and she moved to him, laying both hands very gently on his shoulders as if to steady him. “Hey, you’re okay. I’m sorry. I’m not doing this right. I found Peter…your spotter? He’s an intern at Stark Industries.”

His knees buckled in shock and it was a good thing she’d had both hands on him, because suddenly, she was holding him upright and he was crying on her shoulder and clinging to her like a child. Parker was okay? Parker was back in New York? He was safe? He was _here_?

Darcy held him and made soothing sounds, running her hands over his back and through his hair. When he’d quieted a bit and was standing on his own, Darcy whispered to him, “Do you want to see him? He’s probably pacing a canyon out there.”

“Please,” he all but whimpered. God, he needed to get a handle on this. Wait. What had she told Parker? He swallowed the tears and asked, “Hang on. What does he know?”

“Shh,” Darcy soothed. “He knows that the VA did a shit job with your arm but it’s still there. And he knows you’ve been having a really tough time and need a friend. That’s all.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Fuck. Thank you, doll.”

Darcy exhaled in relief too. She must have been driving herself half-mad today over this moment, trying to decide if this was the right thing to do and how much she should tell Parker. He didn’t envy her that and was so glad she’d apparently said and done exactly what he would have asked of her. “You’re welcome, sweetie. Need another minute?”

“No, let him in. He’s probably chewed off three of his fingernails already.”

Darcy snorted and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, the one that wasn’t bruised to hell, and returned to her front door. Bucky’s heart hammered in his chest and his stomach rolled anxiously. Parker wouldn’t be here if he blamed him, right? He wouldn’t be here if he was mad at Bucky for not making contact? For abandoning him downrange?

Then, the door opened, and there stood Parker. He was in civilian clothes, which was weird, of course. Jeans and sneakers and a red sweatshirt with a jacket under his arm. But it was him. Fair skin that burned like hell every time he accidentally rubbed off his sunscreen. Big, dark eyes, brown hair that was still regulation-length, tall and thin as a bean pole. For an eternity, Parker just stared back at him with those huge eyes while Bucky’s skin began to crawl, then those eyes flooded with tears and with a shaking hand, Parker saluted him and choked out, “Sergeant Barnes, sir.”

And he fucking lost it. A minute later, he had no clue how he’d wound up on his knees clutching Parker to his chest like his own kid, both of them crying like children, but there he was. Parker was _alive_ and _okay_ and safe in his beloved New York in one piece. Thank _fuck_. Maybe there was a God out there after all because if anyone deserved to come home from that shithole, it was Parker. “I’m so sorry,” Bucky mumbled through the tears. “I was so fucked up, Parker, I didn’t want…”

“I know, sir,” Parker said, cutting him off. “Please don’t apologize, I know why you didn’t call. We all did. Are you okay? I looked for you when I got home, but the VA didn’t know how to get ahold of you anymore.”

A sob nearly strangled him and he buried his face in Parker’s shoulder. “Ah, fuck. I wasn’t okay, but I’m a hell of a lot better now. Fuck, I missed you.”

“I missed you, sir.”

“Stop calling me ‘sir,’” Bucky said, pulling back to look Parker in the eyes. “I’m not your sergeant anymore.”

A tear rolled down Parker’s cheek and his eyes were brimming with feeling when he said fervently, “You will always be my sergeant, but I’ll call you something else if that’s what you want, sir. Whatever you want.”

Another sob that he nearly choked on and Bucky scrubbed the tears from his face with his right hand. “Call me ‘Bucky.’”

Parker grinned. “Really? You knocked a guy’s teeth out for calling you that downrange.”

“That was downrange. Here, you’re my friend, and my friends here call me ‘Bucky.’”

Parker looked like he’d just gifted him with a puppy, glowing with happiness and gratitude. “I can do that. Bucky. And you can call me Peter. If you want.”

He chuckled at Peter’s earnestness. God, he'd missed this kid. “I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to EnthusiasticSeekerofNovelty, who totally saw this coming. :) If anyone has predictions or ideas for things they want to see happen, please leave a comment! Comments are life. Especially if you have ideas for horrible things to do to Brock. I especially enjoy those comments...mwahaha.


	7. Not Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the many amazing comments on the last chapter!!! This one's a little longer, which seems fair because it took longer than the others. Love you all!

Darcy left Bucky and Peter to catch up while she ran an errand and picked up takeout. She smiled and blushed like an angel when Bucky kissed her forehead and whispered his thanks to her like he was praying. He would never be able to thank her enough for this.

When she’d gone, he and Peter sat on the couch together and Peter talked in that mile-a-minute way he always did, catching Bucky up on what the rest of his deployment had been like, what everyone was up to, what Peter was up to. Thank fuck, nothing more interesting than Dum Dum getting busted with a bottle of hooch had happened after Bucky was med-boarded and even then, Dum Dum got off with nothing worse than a few hours of latrine duty. The Howling Commandos, the name their platoon had jokingly given themselves after one particularly exciting night raid two years ago, were currently back in the States, safe and whole. Peter said that some of them were going on another tour in a few weeks, but that Dum Dum and Morita had retired and Falsworth had taken a post as a drill sergeant, the thought of which was enough to make Bucky snort and roll his eyes. Peter was done with active duty too, barring another 9/11, god forbid, and had gotten what he wanted: a blank check from the Army to pay for his undergrad in engineering. He planned to eventually put it to use working for the DOD or Stark Industries, where he was currently very proud to be interning under Tony Stark himself in R&D. When Bucky asked who he’d sniped with after he left, Peter went quiet, then answered softly, “I didn’t. That would have meant leaving the Howlies and…well, I didn’t want to do that kind of work with anyone else, sir. Bucky.”

Bucky’s heart seized at that and he nodded his understanding. Military friendships were special relationships and the very necessary bond between a sniper and spotter could be even more special. Bucky almost hadn’t taken Peter on after his first spotter was killed in action and he really hadn’t been close to Stevens. Peter cared about him, a lot, and he could see why the younger man couldn’t imagine spotting for anyone else after the thousands of hours they’d spent side-by-side.

Peter talked in the rapid-fire way for ages and Bucky happily listened, but finally, Peter quieted, eyes locked with Bucky’s. The air in the room changed and Bucky looked down at his mismatched hands, knowing what was coming. “I know you,” Peter said. His voice was quiet, but confident, a confidence that he’d had to learn downrange, mostly from Bucky. “You’re still you, but you’re not, and it’s not just because of what happened the last time I saw you. What changed?”

Bucky swallowed hard, choking down some of the vicious words rattling around in his memory. His knuckles whitened while he tried to determine what to say. What could he say? Where would he even begin? “I did something really, really stupid.”

“No,” Peter said, shaking his head firmly. “I know you didn’t do this.”

Bucky exhaled, eyes still firmly on his hands, on the scars rippling down his left hand to where his pinkie and ring finger ended, shorter than they should be with chunks of muscle missing, stiff and wrong. “I did. I trusted someone I shouldn’t have. Let him inside my head.” Peter said nothing, just waited quietly. Another skill Bucky had taught him. “It was a guy I’d been dating since before my last deployment. Brock.” He hesitated, realizing that he wasn’t sure Peter knew he was bi, but Peter didn’t so much as twitch, so he went on. “He stayed with me after I came back in pieces. Let me move in with him. Took me to doctor’s appointments and VA meetings, at least until I stopped bothering with both. I was a mess. Really a mess. I said…horrible, unforgiveable things to my family. Didn’t reach out to anyone else because I didn’t want to hurt them. But Brock stayed and I thought that meant he loved me and cared about me and I owed him.” His hands were beginning to shake and he tightened every muscle up through his shoulders, even though his left arm began to scream. “I know now that he was emotionally abusive and controlling, but I didn’t realize that was what he was doing until I wasn’t even me anymore. And I was dealing with the insomnia still and nightmares about that last firefight and the pain. I was vulnerable. Really vulnerable. And he took advantage.”

Peter slowly offered him a shaking hand. Bucky hesitated, but laid his right hand in Peter’s grasp and gripped his friend’s hand instead of his own mangled one. Peter squeezed hard and held on and that was enough permission for Bucky to squeeze back white-knuckle-tight. “I’m so fucked up, Peter,” he whispered, his voice little more than a rasp. “He…he had me believing I was worse than nothing. That I was an anchor on his life. That I was useless and pathetic. I still believe a lot of it and I wonder if I’ll ever get his goddamn voice out of my head. I was barely eating, barely sleeping, barely living. I hadn’t left the apartment in three months up until the last time I walked out that door.”

“But you left him?”

Bucky shook his head and the tears fell, silent and cold on his face. “By then, the abuse was…physical too. That last night, he…well, he stopped himself and apologized, said he was driving me to the hospital. I trusted him. I can’t believe I did. Got into his car with nothing in my pockets but lint, blood and bruises all over me. Of course, he didn’t take me to the hospital. His apartment is in Brooklyn…he brought me to the Kitchen, threw me on the street, and left me to die. Said I wasn’t worth it anymore.”

There was a moment of silence, then Bucky actually heard Peter’s teeth grind together and the younger man dragged his free hand through his hair. Finally, Peter asked in a cold, dangerous voice, “When was this?”

“Almost two weeks ago.”

“You were injured. _By him_. You didn’t have money or a phone or anything. And in the last two weeks, we haven’t had a single night that stayed above thirty degrees outside. This week, it hasn’t stayed above ten degrees.”

“Darcy found me three nights ago. She didn’t know me and I looked like hell, but she brought me here and took me in. She saved my life.”

Peter’s body began to shake silently and Bucky, realizing that he was crying, looked to him. Peter met his gaze, eyes red-rimmed and face wet with fallen tears, but his jaw was iron and his eyes were full of the kind of righteous fury Bucky had never seen in him before. “What’s his full name?”

“What will you do if I tell you?”

Peter ground his teeth again, then answered, ice-cold, “I’ll kill him. I’ve had to kill men for less downrange. You know, you were there.”

Bucky shut his eyes as his insides twisted and his chest overflowed with feelings he couldn’t name. “This is different.”

“It is,” Peter agreed, still simmering with barely-contained but very clear rage. “I killed men downrange to _keep them_ from hurting you. This one _already_ hurt you. Who is he?”

It was so tempting to tell him. So tempting. In that moment, he loved Peter for his protective rage and willingness to take that big a risk and that big a hit to his soul for Bucky. But, ultimately, Bucky enfolded Peter’s hand in both of his and met the younger man’s eyes. “I don’t want you to kill him.” When Peter looked ready to argue, Bucky just shook his head once and Peter quieted. “I know he deserves it. Believe me, I do. But I don’t want any more blood on your hands because of me. What we did downrange was not vengeance or murder, Peter. This is. I can’t let you do that to yourself.”

Peter softened, the vengeful hate dissipating and leaving him sagging slightly. He wiped his eyes with his free hand, then whispered, “If that’s what you want. At least tell me you pressed charges.”

Bucky flinched and hung his head in shame. There was a moment of silence clearer than if he’d said the words out loud, then he forced himself to explain, “My name’s never been on the lease, he had the legal right to kick me out. And I never collected evidence. He’s good at manipulating people and he has powerful friends…and I was scared. Still am. I don’t know if I could ever face him in a courtroom.”

“You deserve better than this,” Peter said fiercely. “You deserve justice.”

“I can’t charge him with anything. I haven’t been in contact with him in almost two weeks, there’s no physical evidence left, and there’s no law against emotional abuse. Everything is my word against his and he will always win that fight.”

Peter shook his head, then gritted out, “Did you at least get your stuff? Your phone, your wallet, your tags, your clothes…?” Bucky just shook his head, eyes still downcast in shame. He’d been so weak and fragile. Even now the thought of looking Brock in the eye again, even if it was in the pursuit of getting his tags and everything else, brought him to the edge of vomiting, hyperventilating, or maybe both. Right now, both. Peter ground his teeth again, then asked, “Would you let me help you with that at least? I know it’s been two weeks, but if he still has any of it, you should have it.”

“I don’t know if I can see him,” Bucky choked out. His chest was caving in. “I don’t know if I can deal with whatever he’ll say or do. And then he would know I was alive and still in the city. He might come looking for me to finish the job or drag me back. And I can’t send you or anyone else to do this for me. If I’m going to face him, I need to do it myself. In person.”

“You wouldn’t be alone,” Peter said fervently, squeezing his hand again. Bucky met his gaze and saw immediately that focus and sincerity that made Peter such a good soldier and a good man. “You’re never going to be alone again, I swear it. I have your six, Bucky, and I’m not the only one. Do you really think Darcy would let you face him alone? That girl would crawl across Afghanistan for you if you let her. Backing you up when you confront him would make her day, hell, her year.”

“He’s not just a guy. He’s private security for Hydra, answers to the Secretary of Defense himself, worked for Hydra’s mercenary arm for five years. Remember those assholes who fucked up that village outside Jalalabad? That was Hydra. I don’t want him to know she exists, not her or you or me or anyone else I care about.”

“I don’t give a fuck what his resume looks like,” Peter snapped. “You can’t tell me it says he’s more dangerous than you, the deadliest sniper who operated in Afghanistan in a three year period on any side. You can’t tell me he’s more dangerous than the combined Howling Commandos, all of whom are Stateside right now and would be here in a matter of hours if I so much as sent three words in a group text. And I know for a fact that your friend Darcy once tased a seven-foot-tall ex-Special Forces MMA fighter and is one of only two people in the world who can tell _Tony Stark_ to go to bed and he’ll do it.” Peter clasped his free hand over both of Bucky’s, eyes wide with insistence and confidence that Bucky knew for a fact he’d picked up directly from pep talks _he_ had given him and others downrange when the odds were stacked against them. They’d always beaten them anyway, fuck the odds. “You are _safe now._ That bastard is _never_ going to be within arm’s reach of you again, not while we draw breath and we’re not easy to kill. You’re my CO here and I’m not going to do anything you don’t green light, but I swear to you, Bucky, say the word and we’re at your side, however you want to finish this.”

For a moment, Bucky let the words sink in and breathed, marveling at the way his chest had filled with more confidence and power than he’d felt since being downrange. Then, one corner of his mouth curled up and something warm bloomed deep in his chest. To Peter, he said, “I never want to see you in fatigues again, but you’d make a damn good sergeant, Parker.”

Peter blushed and smiled like he’d been offered a Medal of Honor.

\-------------

When Darcy walked in the door with bags of takeout and drugstore purchases in her arms, she didn’t have time to say a single word before Peter looked to her and said, “We’re getting his stuff.”

Darcy looked to Bucky with eyebrows raised, clearly surprised and concerned, but he nodded, feeling more sure of himself than he had in ages. “Our platoon is Stateside right now,” he explained. “They’ll be in town tomorrow…I guess I’ve been missed.”

Darcy smirked at that, a dangerous glint in her eyes. “Good. Will you go tomorrow, then?”

Bucky shook his head. “No, but in the next few days for sure. We’ll recon first.”

Darcy set down her bags on the counter and planted a hand on her hip, looking suddenly sexy and fierce. Ever since seeing her dressed for work this morning, his brain had been periodically going haywire over her stunning body, which she was showing off for the first time since he’d known her. His initial assessment that she looked like a pin-up girl had been reaffirmed and more and right now, all sassy and full of vengeful fury, she was terrifyingly sexy. “When you do go, I’m going with. And I don’t want to hear one word about my safety, Bucky Barnes, I am not being benched because I’m a chick.”

Peter actually snorted at that and Bucky agreed with his assessment. Out loud, he said, in full honesty, “Doll, I’ll be the first to admit that you’re the fiercest person I know and I think every man on this mission would agree. We are definitely not benching you.”

Darcy blinked in surprise. “You’re not?”

Peter shook his head urgently. “We know better than to get in your way, ma’am.”

The pleased grin that stretched across Darcy’s face was enough to make Bucky smirk. He loved her confidence when it manifested itself and she deserved it. 

Darcy shucked off her coat, derailing all Bucky’s higher-level brain function when she revealed the finest pair of breasts he’d ever seen in his life bouncing under a low-cut shirt. “Hope you boys like Indian food. I needed me some na’an.”

Bucky found himself briefly incapable of speech and apparently, Peter was too. He glanced at the younger man and found him staring at Darcy with eyes wide enough that they looked ready to roll right off his face. “Indian is great,” Bucky said. He didn’t trust himself to attempt a single syllable more right then.

The food was better than great and Darcy had gotten five different dishes plus three flavors of na’an to pass around, which was fantastic. Bucky tried to primarily consume rice and na’an in the interest of his still-sensitive stomach, but he couldn’t resist sampling everything and throwing in his two cents when Peter began gushing with memories of Fazid, an Afghan National Army soldier who the Howlies had worked with for a few months and who was always smuggling homemade dishes to them, usually kabobs or, more than once against all odds, a massive pot of chainaki. Bucky hadn’t thought of Fazid in ages and found himself laughing along with Peter and Darcy as he and Peter called up memories of the man.

“So, tell me about the guys who are visiting,” Darcy said at one point as she scooped a second helping of koorma into her bowl. “The ‘Howling Commandos’?” She shot a smirk at Bucky and added, “I assume that includes Dum Dum that I’ve heard so much about?”

Bucky chuckled at the memory of telling her about Dum Dum. “It’s not the Howlies without Dum Dum.”

Peter then launched into telling Darcy about each of the Howlies, where they were from, their skillsets, their personalities, goofy stories about them from downrange. Like the time Jones had accidentally adopted a stray dog in Kabul that had insisted on trailing their convoy all the way back to base and their CO hadn’t had the heart to try and make him leave. And that Morita was a cheat at cards and how one night the guys had teamed up on him and tricked him into losing every stitch of clothing in a rigged game of strip poker. Darcy laughed hysterically at that story, then took one look at Bucky and started laughing harder. “That was your idea, wasn’t it?”

“All the best ones were,” Peter said with a wicked smirk that had Bucky blushing and laughing over. Peter looked to Bucky then and shook his head. “God, the number of times you convinced guys to hit on Romanoff and stuck around to watch her eviscerate them…”

Darcy raised an eyebrow. “Who’s Romanoff?”

“Natasha Romanoff,” Bucky answered, chuckling at the memories of his most terrifying friend. “She was a CIA interrogator at our base. We became friends, but she…didn’t exactly play well with others. Beautiful woman, terrifyingly dark sense of humor, but so intimidating.”

Darcy laughed again. “So you would send unsuspecting newbies to flirt with her and watch her crush their souls?”

“Yep. She never quite destroyed them, she knew exactly how far to push, but she always put them in their place.”

“Did she put either of you in your place?” Darcy asked with a wicked glint in her eye.

“Thank fuck that wasn’t necessary,” Bucky said, to which Peter nodded rapidly. “Let’s just say I knew better than to grab venomous snakes by the tail and Peter knew to give them a wide berth altogether.”

“This woman sounds terrifying.”

“You’d love her,” Bucky said without a doubt in his mind.

Peter nodded again in agreement. “She’s downrange now, but she has leave in March, I think.” His eyes snapped to Bucky. “You need to talk to her.”

Bucky sighed and could only nod. He’d kept Nat in the dark long enough. His depression-addled brain had many times convinced him in the last year that she was better off without his friendship and would forget him, but realistically, Natasha had very few friends and the ones she had were a family she’d chosen. She would never not consider Bucky a friend and when she found out about Brock, she would literally eviscerate the bastard. Probably the only thing that had kept her from finding Bucky (because she totally could) and breaking down his door in the last year had been the high value she placed on personal space. If she’d known what was really going on, though, she would have been there.

They discussed arrangements for an early dinner/planning session with the Howlies the next day, hosted and insisted upon by Darcy, then Peter took his leave, giving Bucky a long hug on his way to the door. “You’re not alone,” he whispered in Bucky’s ear.

“I know that now,” Bucky answered, tears in his eyes again. “Thanks, Peter.”

Peter clapped him on the right shoulder and grinned, then he was gone.

In his absence, Darcy finished putting what little leftovers they had from dinner into the fridge, then rustled through her bag from the drugstore. Bucky retreated to the couch, feeling weary after such an emotional day. As he sat, Darcy said, “Hey, Bucky? I have something for you.”

Something ached in his overburdened chest and he sighed, turning to watch her approach. She’d ditched her heels, but was still in that leggings/skirt and cleavage outfit that had just sent his brain offline for what felt like the thirtieth time that day. Somehow as she sat beside him, he found the brain power to answer, “You’re too good to me, doll. You know you don’t need to keep giving me things.”

“I want to. And I definitely need to give you this.” Darcy pulled a white plastic jar out of the bag and spun it in her hands so he could read the label. “So, I sort of did some reading. Have you ever used this before? Or anything like it?”

He forced himself to focus on the words printed on the jar and, when he did, his eyebrows shot up. “I remember a doctor suggesting scar cream to me once, but I never tried it and nobody really pushed it. What does it do?”

“You rub it into your scars and it has moisturizers in it that soften the skin and ease mobility right away, and it also reduces scar tissue build-up over time,” Darcy said softly. “The scar tissue build-up is probably what’s causing a lot of the pain, so if you use it regularly, it will reduce the pain along with the build-up, which will reduce more pain, etcetera. And supposedly, it will make the visible stuff fade…the reviews online were really good. This one lady had some pretty major surgical scars that were almost invisible eight months later. And this is, like, the only one I found that has actual anti-inflammatories built in for the pain.”

Bucky looked to Darcy in wide-eyed amazement to find her blushing and very deliberately staring at the jar in her hands. His throat was closing up with tears for probably the fifteenth time that day. He’d had no idea such a thing even existed, never dreamed it was possible. All this time, he’d been so wrapped up in the day-to-day pain and the self-loathing and self-consciousness that he’d never so much as hoped for it. And rather than ever once flinch at his scars like Brock and his family had, Darcy had put in the time to research ways to fight the pain and turn back the clock on the damage that he’d known was getting worse. 

Darcy bit her lip. “I don’t know if it actually works or if you really want me rubbing it into your scars, that’s pretty intimate and stuff, and I know I shouldn’t have been Googling without talking to you about it first, but I just….” She sighed and met his eyes nervously. “I care about you and I hate that you’re in pain all the time and all you have to fight it with is stupid ibuprofen. I had to know if there was anything I could do to help. Is that okay?”

“Doll….” At a loss for words, Bucky wrapped his arms around Darcy. Touch was still pretty weird for him because so little of the touching he’d gotten in the last two years or so had actually felt good, but holding her _always_ felt good. Darcy melted into his embrace and he kissed her hair because he couldn’t help it, then whispered into it, “You’re an angel, I swear to God. Thank you.”

Darcy hugged him back tightly. When he released her, he found her blushing again, but she quickly hid that with a smirk and a waggle of her eyebrows. “So, you want a massage?”

Her hands on him? Massaging away the pain and anxiety and everything else? There was only one possible answer. “Yes, please.”

Darcy grinned and gestured to him to take off his sweatshirt. The pain wasn’t crippling at the moment (he’d been hitting the ibuprofen hard enough to worry about burning a hole in his stomach), but he still awkwardly reached over his shoulder to grab a handful of sweatshirt in his right hand and pull it over his head rather than raise his left arm. Darcy’s smile wavered as she watched him, but she didn’t say a word, just redirected her attention to peeling the foil seal off the jar of cream. Bucky managed to get his t-shirt off the same way as the sweatshirt, though his hands were now shaking. He could count on his fingers the number of people who had seen him shirtless in the last year and every one of them had recoiled except for Darcy. Every doctor and nurse, his parents and sisters, Brock. _Fuck, that’s a shame, baby. You used to be so hot._

“Hey,” Darcy said. Bucky met her eyes through the fog and found them sad, not disgusted. “Don’t do that to yourself. Hottest guy I know, remember?” He chuckled once, but the sound was every bit as bitter as he felt. Darcy bit her lip, hesitating a moment, then set down the jar of scar cream in favor of moving closer to him, close enough that her leg was pressed against his. She reached out, telegraphing her slow movement, and he let her lay both hands on him, one on his chest maybe an inch from the crooked lines of his scars, the other on his collarbone sliding up the side of his neck and into his hair. He let her because she made it so clear that he didn’t have to and he was glad he did because her hands were so soft and warm. “Can I tell you something?”

He could only nod.

Darcy briefly lifted one hand to guide his right hand to her waist. He kept it there, fingers holding her steady and tempted in spite of the state of his mind to wander up or down towards her curves. She replaced her hand on him and then, looking him in the eye, said, “I know some of what your head is doing to you because puberty was an absolute nightmare for me and I know what it’s like to look in the mirror and remember their hateful words and believe them. I had double-D’s before most of the girls in my class had to wear a real bra, my hips and ass grew so fast I was shaking out my piggy bank for new jeans twice a month, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it, no matter how much effort I put into counting calories and waking up early to do sit-ups on my bedroom floor. Everyone noticed and everyone had an opinion on it that they felt the need to share. Mostly, I was either ‘fat’ or a ‘slut.’”

Something inside his chest was tearing and his jaw had gone hard with anger even as he stroked both hands up and down her sides. “Darcy…you’re a knockout. They were jealous assholes.”

Darcy shrugged a shoulder. “Most of them were, yeah, but I didn’t think that then. I was depressed and miserable and starving myself trying to keep the weight off and meanwhile my mom was giving me pointers on calorie counting, encouraging me to work harder at it. I hated my body and I hated myself. Then, my parents finally got divorced and I spent a summer with my grandma, who I hadn’t seen in ages. I thought she’d react to the way I looked like everyone else had. You know what she said?”

“What?”

One corner of Darcy’s mouth curled upward. “She said, ‘Hot damn, who is that beautiful young woman walking up my driveway?’ and she _congratulated me._ On the curves I’d been trying to starve away and hide with shapewear. It took a lot of work on my part and hers for me to see it her way and like my body again, but god it felt good when I finally did.”

Bucky trailed his fingertips along her ribs, heart beginning to race just holding her like this and seeing her smile. “I’m sorry, doll. It makes me sick to think you ever doubted yourself. You’re beautiful.”

“Thanks, sweetheart. What I’m saying is I know how you feel, at least about this, and I don’t want that for you.” She brushed her fingertips featherlight across the scars on his left chest and side, eyes straying to follow her hand for a long moment before rising to meet his gaze again. Her pupils had dilated just a bit in that moment, just enough to notice. “You’re the hottest man I have ever seen and the only thing I have against your scars is that they cause you pain. But if we’re only talking about looks…fuck, dude. You’re so gorgeous and when I see the scars, I see the things you’ve survived and how fucking strong you had to be to get here and that’s beautiful.”

His throat closed up and his heart began to stammer in his chest. “You mean that?”

“Every word.” Darcy chuckled to herself, then blushed just a bit and took his right hand again. “If you don’t believe me, tell me this is normal.” She pressed his palm to her chest over her heart. Her skin was hot to the touch and so fucking soft, her breast full and so inviting under his hand, and beneath that, he could feel her heart beating double-time. She grinned wryly. “Feel that? We’re barely touching and we’re having a serious conversation, not talking about getting off together watching _The Witcher_ , and here I am dizzy from my heart racing so fast. That’s all you, handsome.”

Bucky very carefully slid his hand up her chest to cradle the side of her neck, fingertips straying a bit on the way to soak up more of her warm skin. Darcy’s eyes drooped shut for a moment and her lips parted as she tried to regulate her breathing. She was so stunning and so damn sweet and _she wanted him this bad?_ She was right that they were barely touching, hadn’t kissed on the lips since last night, he had made zero effort to flirt with her…this was all about how attracted to him she was. The knowledge made his own heart race and set something to bubbling inside his chest. When Darcy opened her eyes again, they were more black than blue and she looked like a pin-up girl with that bright red blush on her alabaster cheeks and those bright red lips just slightly parted, calling to him. 

“It blows my mind how much you want me,” he whispered to her. “ _You_. You have the most beautiful soul I’ve ever met and you look like a pin-up girl, like a goddess. You could have anyone and you want me.”

Darcy smiled, still blushing fiercely. “What can I say? I’m picky. Only interested in the best.” Bucky snorted and felt his lips curl into an indulgent smile that made Darcy light up. After a moment, she said, “So…you gonna let me give you a massage now? Because I would _really_ like to do that.”

“Like I would say ‘no.’”

They retracted their hands, both reluctantly and watching each other’s reactions. Darcy’s hands shook as she unscrewed the lid on the scar cream and he couldn’t help smirking a bit seeing how he affected her. “Ooh, that actually smells nice. I thought for sure the reviews were lies,” Darcy muttered to herself as she scooped a fingerful of cream. She paused and looked to him then. “Should I…I could start at your hand and work upwards?”

“Sure.”

Darcy began slowly massaging the cream into his left hand, fingers pressing into his aching flesh, following along the lines of the scars. The cream did smell good, like mint and other green things, and it was cool on his skin. He hoped the anti-inflammatories did work, but his eyes were falling shut and rolling back regardless as he went boneless under Darcy’s touch. He could feel the pressure of her touch deep down, chasing away the tension and tightness. “Is it okay?” Darcy asked softly.

“Mmm…shit. Don’t stop,” he groaned.

Darcy chuckled and kept going, adding more cream as she moved on to his forearm, leaving his hand feeling warm and almost liquid. “Keep making those sounds and I’ll do whatever you want.”

Almost on cue, her thumb found a knot in his forearm and the feeling of the pressure and relief chasing each other through his scar tissue dragged a moan from his throat. In a moment, that part of his flesh softened under Darcy’s touch and something that he hadn’t realized was as taut as a bowstring went slack. “Oh my god,” he mumbled. “Your hands…were you a masseuse in a previous life?”

“I may have watched a YouTube video or two about how to do this,” Darcy admitted, the smirk she wore perfectly clear in her voice. “An actual masseuse could probably do it way better.”

“I doubt that.” She moved back down to his hand and tested the range of motion in his fingers and wrist, which seemed better already. His hand was usually so tight it was barely functional, but between the cream softening the top layers of flesh and her fingers working out the knots in his damaged muscles, everything seemed to be more mobile than it had been in months. “Either someone found a way to bottle magic or you’re really damn good at this.”

“Well, the cream isn’t supposed to work this fast, so I’ll take that as a compliment.” Darcy continued around and past his elbow. As she worked the part of his bicep that was caved in where a chunk of the muscle was missing, his body went tense and then liquid again. He moaned and Darcy teased, “My mind is running rampant. If that’s the sound you make when I massage your _arm_ …”

Bucky snorted at that. When he responded, he sounded almost drunk from how relaxed he was. “Doll, I’m going to owe _you_ a massage after this.”

Darcy’s hands stilled for a moment, then she shook herself and continued massaging up the curve of his shoulder. “Should I take my shirt off for this massage? That seems fair.”

His brain went offline, just _coded_ , picturing Darcy and her Coke-bottle body shirtless. What color bra was she wearing? Would it be cotton? Or maybe lace or satin? Or did she mean shirtless _and_ braless? “…Yeah. That’s…probably fair.”

Darcy laughed, but it was quiet and in a lower register than usual, something like the mischievous chuckle she let loose when she was flirting with him but a little more sensuous, a little more real and secret. Then, he was wondering if he could make her make that sound again by using his tongue to tease her throat or chest and…yeah, there were parts of him that were definitely not relaxed anymore. Darcy’s hands were at the top of his shoulder now inching towards his neck, her face close enough that he could feel her breath on his skin. “Hey, Bucky?”

“Hmm?”

Her voice had gone both shakier and clearer, which told him that she was still thoroughly distracted, but that whatever she had to say mattered. He kept his eyes shut for her privacy as she found the words, but he listened closely. “Yesterday…when we kissed…I stopped us because I didn’t want to do anything you’d regret later. I know you’re…in a tough place right now and I don’t want to…I don’t know. I never want to take advantage of you. I get that rebounds are a thing, I knew a girl in college who married her rebound guy, but with you…I can’t put you in a position where you’re dependent on me like what happened with the ex-dickwad. I can’t manipulate you.”

That got him to open his eyes. She was focused very intently on what her hands were doing on his upper chest and, as good as that felt, it went right to the back burner for him. “I know you’d never do that to me, doll. And I know better than to let that happen again.” When she didn’t react, he raised his right hand and laid it over one of hers to still it. She met his eyes then, bottom lip between her teeth, eyes dark with concern and lingering lust. He thought about what she was getting at. He’d been thinking about it on and off for most of the day, honestly, and most of a sleepless night. He’d only been away from Brock for less than two weeks. She’d saved his life and nursed him. There were plenty of reasons why his heart might be compromised on this and why it might be smart to take a step back.

But Peter had saved his life half a hundred times and he’d never felt anything remotely romantic towards him. Nor towards any of the nurses or doctors who helped patch him up in Afghanistan and later at Walter Reed. And his relationship with Brock hadn’t been about romantic attachment in a very long time. He’d been under no illusion that he needed Brock for anything except a roof and his pain meds for months now. He didn’t want Darcy because she had saved him or because he felt like he owed her things or because she’d ever purposely toyed with his heart or mind to make him want her. He wanted her because of how transparent she was and what that transparency had shown him.

So, when he spoke again, gaze holding hers, he knew what he was saying and he meant it. He really hoped she could see that. “I have a lot of regrets, but I could never regret you, doll. I know you would never take advantage of me or manipulate me or any of that. I know you would never hurt me or use me. I want you and it’s not because of anything you’ve _made me_ think or feel. I’ve been there and I know the difference. I want you because of who you are. You’re gentle and funny and generous and sexy. You’re my friend and yeah, I want more than that. Since kissing you that first time, I can’t stop thinking about what ‘more’ might mean and I want it.”

Darcy blushed cherry-red and smiled, slow and shy. “You mean all that?”

Echoing her earlier move, he dragged her hand on his chest to cover his heart. He watched her eyes widen and dart from their hands back up to his face as she felt his heart race. “I want this,” he whispered.

Forgetting everything else for a moment, Darcy leaned in and kissed him. This kiss was less tentative than their previous ones, long and deep and needy. His hand was still at her ribs and he used it to pull her closer. She took the hint and straddled his lap, her skirt bunching around her hips, and his brain flat-lined. In that moment, he forgot everything beyond her mouth on his, her hands on his skin, and her legs bracketing his hips. She was perfect like this and about the only thing that could make it better was less clothes. “Mmm…god,” Darcy moaned against his mouth. Her tongue swirled around his and he carded his fingers through her hair with one hand. The other pulled harder at her waist, pressing her hips tighter to his and, with them, her center to where his cock was more interested in the proceedings that it had been in over a year. Darcy’s breath stuttered and she mumbled against his mouth, “Okay, okay. I was almost done with that massage, then we can do this with my shirt off. Deal? I totally almost forgot that the cream was a thing.”

“Deal,” he said, but he didn’t stop kissing her. He never wanted to stop kissing her. It was some time later when his fingertips were inching her shirt upward that Darcy finally broke the kiss and backed off enough to grab the cream. She didn’t leave his lap, though, and while she resumed the massage, breath occasionally stuttering and a fierce blush on her cheeks, his hands wandered over her body and his eyes traced her face and form. 

“This is really hard to focus on when you’re eye-fucking me,” Darcy mumbled. “Not that I’m complaining, just saying.”

“Can’t help it.” His hands trailed to her leggings-clad knees, then up her thighs to where her skirt was bunched around her hips, then briefly inward at her belly before traveling up her ribs. His thumbs traced semi-circles beneath her breasts, right along where he could feel the wire in her bra. Darcy’s breath caught in her throat then. Her hands on his scars still felt incredible, but his focus had moved to other things and when she was satisfied with her massage work and moved in to kiss him again, he was relieved. When she kissed him, he could breathe again without his chest aching, without his brain picking away at his soul. It was so freeing and sweet and intoxicating.

Darcy’s hands dragged over his upper chest, up into his hair, then scrambled to peel her shirt up over her head. He pulled out of the kiss to allow her shirt to pass and found himself struck dumb looking at her in the moment that followed. Her dark hair fell heavy and soft on her bare shoulders, standing out stark against her alabaster skin. She had freckles, only a few, tiny and adorable in surprising spots on her shoulders, ribs, and just above her waistband. Her bra was as red as her lips and supported the finest breasts he’d ever seen in his life. “Fuck me,” he mumbled, stunned into near-speechlessness.

Darcy grinned crookedly. “Well, if you insist. See something you like?”

The words weren’t coming, so he leaned in and kissed his way down her throat and over her plush upper chest instead, hands sliding up to support and massage her breasts as his mouth dragged over her cleavage. She was spilling out of her bra, looking like a fucking wet dream, and he’d never used the term ‘balcony’ to describe a woman’s breasts before, but she absolutely had a balcony and he needed to get his lips and tongue on every inch of it. Darcy moaned and buried her hands in his hair, holding him there, urging him on. Her skin tasted faintly of jasmine and something soft and warm like vanilla and when a flick of his tongue had her whimpering his name, _Bucky_ , he drew a line with it down between her breasts. “Ohmygod,” Darcy gasped. “Oh…fuck…”

He brushed the strap off her left shoulder and then his good hand was inside her bra, pulling her free. She cried and whimpered and fuck he was groaning in pleasure right along with her because he could barely hold her in one hand and she was so warm and responsive. A barely-there brush of his thumb around her nipple had her crying out and when he got his mouth there, she _keened_ , all high-pitched and needy, fingers scrabbling at his shoulders and tugging on his hair. He cradled her bare breast in one hand, pushing her bra cup aside, and teased her nipple with his tongue until it stood proud and hard, begging for attention, and then he sucked it into his mouth. Darcy cried out again and ground her core down where their hips met and his body bucked up against her and fuck that felt good. “Stopstopstop…” Darcy whimpered, breathless. “Stop, you’re going to make me come.”

He’d released her nipple the second she said ‘stop’, but the rest of her plea made him smirk like the devil and he murmured into her flesh, “Well, if that’s the only reason, I definitely can’t stop.”

Darcy’s heart hammered under his hand and she moaned pitifully as he shoved her bra further out of the way and tugged her right nipple into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue over and over to make her scream. He massaged both breasts as he worked her and when he sucked one nipple and gently twisted the other between his fingers, Darcy’s body went stiff and her fingertips dug fiercely into his right shoulder and her head rolled back, hair falling everywhere. Watching her come undone, feeling her muscles go absolutely rigid and then boneless in his arms, had him right on the edge of coming untouched too because she was so fucking beautiful and loved this and needed this every bit as much as he did. When she came down, he wrapped both arms around her and let her melt into his chest and bury her face in his neck, hands trailing over her smooth back and soft hair. She fit perfectly against him like that and Bucky caught himself smiling.

Darcy mumbled something utterly incomprehensible and he had to chuckle. He pressed a kiss to her hair and said, “You’re perfect, doll. Stay right here.”

“Mmm…” Darcy groaned. “Can’t believe I just came like that. I mean, I’m kind of sensitive and it’s been a while, but still…damn…”

“You’re gorgeous to watch like that, doll. That definitely won’t be the last time I make you come like that.”

A shiver of longing rippled through Darcy’s body and she rocked against him. “Hmm…that a promise?”

That bit of friction was enough to choke him for a moment and he barely recognized his own voice when he answered, “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”


	8. Here with You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm not great at mood boards, but my brain decided I needed one and I thought you lovely folks might appreciate it too. Side-note...don't Google "sad Sebastian Stan" unless you have a box of tissues handy. That guy plays sad characters like nobody's business. CA:TWS always guts me with that "but I knew him," but trust me on this, you can't watch "Political Animals" or "Kings" without an emergency chocolate stash within reach.

Bucky knew that Darcy planned to work a few hours the next morning at Stark Industries, but he couldn’t bring himself to insist she go to bed. Not unless he was going with her, anyway, and he hadn’t worked up the confidence to ask for an invitation. For now, he was staying right there on her couch, sprawled across it with her on top of him, kissing her and touching her and just enjoying the feel of her warm skin on his in the cold apartment.

It was awhile ago now that Darcy had wrestled off her skirt, leaving her lying across him in nothing but her leggings, which left little to the imagination, and whatever panties she must be wearing that somehow left zero panty-lines. He still had on his sweatpants and boxer-briefs, though he was absolutely aching and the way her bare chest felt pressed to his had his brain working overtime begging him to get rid of the remaining clothes between them. Darcy’s thoughts must have been traveling a similar path because every now and then as they kissed and touched, her hands would wander as low as his hips. Twice her fingertips even teased beneath his waistband like she was about to start peeling off his clothes, but she always stopped herself and firmly planted both hands on his ribs instead.

He knew why and he wanted to tell her that as much as he appreciated the consideration, he wanted her and wouldn’t regret anything that happened between them. He wanted to tell her that he wanted her in _every_ way, but was too paralyzed by self-doubt and nerves to make the first move. He wanted to tell her that he needed her to move things forward because that was all that could assure his broken brain that this was real and she wanted this.

The words wouldn’t come.

There was nothing wrong with making out, absolutely nothing. Hell, he’d made her come just from touching and kissing her gorgeous breasts and that was really something. He wanted more, though, and he didn’t know how to ask. He knew that he had a problem with saying ‘no’ to things he didn’t want, that Brock had trained it out of him in the last six months or so, but he hadn’t realized he had a problem with asking for things he did want. Every time her hands wandered, his brain sang _pleasedon’tstoppleaseIwantthisdon’tstop_ , and every time his throat closed tight and she checked herself, waiting for words that died before they could reach his tongue.

This had never been a problem before. He had never had a confidence problem with romantic matters before his last tour and after he got back his libido had dropped like a stone and he hadn’t asked for things because he hadn’t wanted them. He hadn’t even known this was a problem, but it definitely was and it was killing him.

When Darcy’s first two fingers snaked beneath his waistband a third time and withdrew a third time, his every muscle went stiff and his throat and chest went vice-tight. Darcy noticed and pulled back a good eight inches immediately. “I’m so sorry,” she said in a rush, her voice muted by desire. “That was too fast, I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”

“Darcy,” he choked out. His lungs didn’t re-inflate after the words left him, though, and he left Darcy waiting as he fought for the air to power the words. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked up at her worried face, her red lips swollen from kissing. He traced her lower lip with his thumb, slid his fingers back into her hair, and that was reassuring enough to allow him to inhale. That and the naked concern in her eyes. She cared. She wanted him. She wasn’t going to hurt him or reject him or take more than he was willing to give. She wasn’t going to call him ‘stupid’ or ‘disgusting’ while her hands were on him, using him, getting off without even looking at him. She wasn’t going to strike him if he asked her to stop or slow down, wasn’t going to berate him for thinking her not good enough if he asked for more. She cared and wanted him and wanted to make him feel good. “Doll…I…I want you. Want this. I never used to be so bad at this. I’m…sorry.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Darcy leaned closer again and stroked her fingertips along his temple over and over in that soothing way. The muscles that had gone tense in his face fell slack. “You’re not bad at this. Just tell me what you need. Nothing’s going to happen you don’t want.”

“I…I do want this. I just…fuck.” He shut his eyes tight hoping he could force the words out if he wasn’t looking at her when he tried. It was still a struggle. “I’m not good at…asking for things.”

Darcy thought about that for a minute and his nerves rippled with anxiety, but she didn’t stop or hesitate in her soothing motions and she didn’t move away. Finally, she asked quietly, “If I ask you a yes or no question, can you answer me honestly? I can take the lead if that’s what you want, but I don’t want to accidentally take advantage. I need you to be able to tell me ‘no’ if you need to.”

His stomach clenched and he felt his face burn hot with shame. How did she know him so well? She had to have somehow guessed at what his sex life had looked like recently. Why else would she be this concerned about consent? Why else would she be this gentle with him? He’d told her that he’d been manipulated and had hinted at the verbal abuse, but he had never said anything that even alluded to the uglier things. Had he? Or was it written on his face? Was it that deer-in-headlights look he sometimes saw in the mirror? He didn’t dare open his eyes, but he swallowed to slake his dry throat and choked out the words, “I think I can do that.”

“That’s good,” she said, sounding a little relieved. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he thought he could answer yes/no questions honestly because he’d never answered dishonestly before. He’d just never been asked. Even the phrases that sometimes rolled off of tongues in the middle of things, the ‘ _you like that?_ ’s, had never been phrased as questions by Brock. It hadn’t been seeking validation or confirmation, it hadn’t been pillow talk. It had been _you take that like such a good little slut_ and _trust me, you’re going to like it._

Darcy kissed his forehead, so damn sweet and careful, and whispered, “Sweetie? You with me, Bucky?”

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely, falling back into his body, back into the present. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Can you look at me, please?”

He opened his eyes and was immediately confronted with a maelstrom of emotions on her face. Worry, sadness, anger, desire. She had both hands cradling his face now and her fingers traced soothing patterns at his hairline. “Yes or no, do you want to keep going?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure? Because you just went somewhere else. Somewhere bad.”

His eyes burned with unshed tears and he tightened his grip on her hips, keeping her firmly where she was. His guts churned and yeah, the physical manifestation of his interest had definitely flagged, but the absolute last thing he wanted right now was for her to walk away and leave him with those memories running rampant in his head. “I’m sure. I don’t want to…remember that right now. Want to just…be present. With you.”

Darcy softened and the anger, which he realized must have been directed at Brock, evaporated into sadness and affection. “What can…do you want me to replace the bad memories?”

He had enough presence of mind to realize that she’d just changed her question deliberately to phrase it as a yes or no and he was so grateful for that. He couldn’t handle anything more complicated right now. “Yes.”

“Okay. But if you get stuck in your head again, I need you to stop me, okay? Just say the word ‘no,’ any time any reason. Can you promise me you’ll do that?”

He had to squeeze his eyes shut tight to keep the tears from falling, but that was enough to cage them. “Yes.”

“Okay. Can I kiss you?”

“Yes. Please.”

She did, slow and tentative. He hesitated responding, his mind spinning faster than he could catch up, telling him that he was damaged, that he was fucked up, that she deserved better than him, that she was going to realize the truth of how pathetic and broken he was and flinch away. She didn’t flinch, though, and she kissed him a little more urgently, teasing him with her lips, encouraging him to get out of his damn head. As she did, her fingers moved so reverently over his face and through his hair, nowhere else, telling him wordlessly that she cared about him, that she even adored him, that she would take care of him. The cruel voice in his head quieted and he responded more naturally to her kisses and his thumbs stroked arcs along her hipbones. With only her lips, she begged him to open his mouth to her and he did and she teased him and seduced him until the voice was forgotten and the kiss had gone needy and deep.

Darcy broke the kiss for only a moment to ask a question, panting between syllables. “Can I touch you? I mean your chest and arms, nowhere else.”

“Yeah.”

The kiss resumed and her hands meandered slowly down the sides of his neck, massaging his shoulders, appreciating and memorizing the contours of what remained of his muscles. Her right hand massaged at his scars as they kissed and his muscles rippled in pleasure under her touch, begging for more. At a particular pressure point in his upper bicep, he moaned into the kiss and she murmured against his lips, “Does that mean it’s okay for me to do this when we’re like this? I should have asked that.”

“Very okay.”

“Good,” she said, a smile in her voice. They kissed more, tongues dancing and teasing. She sucked lightly on his bottom lip and his dick was wide awake again, leaping to conclusions about that particular sensation. Her teeth just barely grazed his lip and a shiver rippled down his spine that she must have felt, because she paused to ask, “Was that good or bad?”

“Good.”

“But you have never kissed me with teeth,” she observed. She kissed him again and again, keeping him in the present, not giving him time to think about why he had never bitten her even to tease. “I am never ever going to give you bruises or draw blood. I swear to you, _never._ Knowing that, can I use my teeth, yes or no?”

She knew. She absolutely knew. Not the details, of course, but she knew that most of his injuries that she’d treated that first night had been dealt to him by Brock and she knew that there had been worse. She knew that at the very least, Brock had been rough with him in bed and he hadn’t said ‘no,’ not even when he should have. 

Before he could spiral, though, she was kissing him again, her fingers working magic on the scars along his ribs, sending his eyes rolling back in his head. When he was getting lost in her again, hands ghosting along her sides and back, kiss urgent and hungry, she broke away enough to repeat, her lips brushing his, “Teeth? Yes or no?”

“Yes,” he answered. “I trust you.”

Darcy faltered at those words, but he actually felt her muscles shift as she steeled herself and increased the speed of the kiss. Just when he was gasping for breath, she paused to tug his lower lip with her teeth, then lave her tongue over the bite and soothe it. The gentle pinpoint pressure rippled right down his spine and her tongue afterward turned him liquid and he groaned into the kiss, hands tightening on her just a bit. His reaction was enough to make her moan and that turned him on even more. The kiss became desperate and Darcy’s wandering hands found his on her ribs. Into his mouth, she asked, “If I put your hands somewhere you don’t want them, can I trust you to move them away?”

“Yes.” If she meant placing his hands on _her_ , there was nowhere she could possibly put them that he’d flinch away from. He wanted to feel every inch of her.

He wasn’t disappointed. Darcy moved one of his hands to cup her bare breast suspended no more than an inch above his chest and the other to grasp one cheek of her fantastic ass. She shivered under the touch and when he automatically began tracing her nipple with his thumb, she whimpered. “God…okay. You can touch me anywhere you want. _Anywhere._ And you can put me anywhere…like you can pull me closer or push me away. Got it?”

With the hand that was on her ass, he pulled her close enough to press tightly against him from her knees to her tits, trapping his other hand between them. Darcy moaned and a quiet surge of self-satisfaction bloomed in Bucky’s chest. Into her hair, he whispered, “Yeah, doll, I got it.”

She gave him that low chuckle he loved and said, “Good.” Then, she kissed him again and they drowned in each other, seeking each other out every time one of them gasped for air, pushing closer and touching and teasing. As much as he could feel through her leggings, she had a damn fine ass and he was itching to feel it skin-on-skin, maybe to take her from behind and enjoy the view. With a firm grip on her curves, he pulled her impossibly closer, grinding her core down against him and making them both inhale rattling gasps. “Oh, fuck,” Darcy groaned. “Finest dick I’ve ever held. No rush, but I need that in me someday, Barnes. It’s on my bucket list.”

He found himself laughing quietly at that and then they were kissing again, at least until Darcy mumbled against his mouth, “Can I…can I kiss you elsewhere? Your neck and your chest?”

“Yeah, doll.”

Her mouth immediately left his and he lamented the loss for a fraction of a second, but then she was kissing under his jaw and down his throat, tongue flicking at his skin now and then like she couldn’t resist tasting him. She just barely sucked a bit of skin into her mouth at his collarbone, then was moving on before she could have possibly raised a hickey. 

She’d meant it when she promised not to ever leave bruises on him. 

A wave of affection rose in him so powerful that it knocked the breath out of him and he realized that he was falling in love with this woman. His organs went into freefall and, after a fraction of a second of terror, he smiled in disbelief and happiness. He looked down, watched her worship his chest with her mouth, and lightly tweaked her nipple with his fingertips, dragging a moan out of her. “If you’re hoping to make me come just from second base again, I’m warning you, it’s going to work,” she said in that slow, flirting voice.

Yeah, he was falling hard, and he had zero intention of trying to catch himself.

When her teeth just barely grazed his nipple, a shot of raw need arced down his spine faster than logical thought could possibly follow. His hand on her ass slid lower, dipped between her thighs, and felt her through her thin clothes. “Ohmygod,” Darcy gasped, hands tightening on his ribs reflexively. “Ohmygod, don’t stop. Please.”

He didn’t stop. He traced light circles around her with his fingertips, making her whimper and grind her hips against his, leaving little room for his fingers. She couldn’t help it, though, and, knowing exactly what kind of friction she was looking for and wanting nothing more than to watch her face as she came again, he reached just a bit farther. Even with two layers of clothes in the way, he knew the instant he found her clit because her back arched wildly, pressing her breast into his hand, and that blissful, desperate look came to her face again. “Bucky,” she whimpered. “Fuck…Bucky, please. Please, don’t stop. Please.”

He teased her, giving her what she needed for only a few seconds at a time before straying to explore elsewhere. He found the lines of her panties, determined that she was indeed wearing some but they we seamless and consisted of very little fabric, some kind of thong. “I have a feeling seeing that ass in those panties would give a man a heart attack,” he teased her.

Darcy giggled and kissed him hungrily, taking a break only long enough to say, “You’re welcome to find out. I’ll need an ambulance on standby anyway if you touch me much more. You’re not the only one in danger of cardiac arrest.”

“I think you can handle it,” he murmured back. And then, he redoubled his efforts, working her breasts and core, plundering her mouth with his tongue. Darcy whimpered and moaned, filthy pleas filling his ears. Her hand tightened into a fist against his ribs, digging her nails into her palm rather than into him. At some point, he was going to remember that and think of the fact that he used to like earning fingernail scratches on his skin, but for now he was too honored that she was so firm in her refusal to leave marks on him.

“Oh fuck…please…I need you, please…don’t stop…fuck, baby, don’t stop…right there,” Darcy moaned between kisses. She was so close and _fuck_ , he wanted to tip her over that edge and watch her come undone. He wanted more than that, though, wanted to feel her skin-to-skin, wanted to be buried in her. Darcy whimpered in frustration when he withdrew his hand, but her breath hitched when his fingertips teased beneath the band of her leggings. “Yes,” she whimpered. “Let me feel you.”

Her skin was scorching-hot and so damn soft and smooth that his brain went offline imagining being wrapped around her with absolutely nothing between them. Her thong was in fact a g-string and covered almost nothing, hence the lack of panty-lines, and he trailed his fingers along it all the way to her core. Darcy gasped and her entire body went rigid and bowed into him, begging for more contact, more pressure. She was so hot and dripping with want, her body begging for his touch. “Fuck, doll,” he groaned. Sliding one finger inside her was the most natural, easy thing to do and he watched her lips part in a gasp as he did it, watched her face contort in desperation and pleasure as he withdrew it and returned with a second finger. She was so hot and wet and he could feel her quiver around him. The pressure went right up his nerve-endings and down to his cock, all higher-level thinking going offline in favor of _I need her._

“Fuck!” Darcy cried, rolling her hips to meet his hand, taking him as deep as he could reach. Then she was kissing him again, urgent, needy, and he was lost in her mouth and in the heat between her thighs, and he couldn’t get enough of her, never wanted this to end even as he wanted to hear her scream his name. He curled his fingers just right, stroking along her front wall, and her body seized as she cried out. “Oh god…Bucky,” she whimpered, breathless, balanced on that precipice.

“Come for me, beautiful,” he murmured, lips brushing hers. And that was all it took and he could feel her muscles clamping down on him and he opened his eyes to watch her face as she moaned his name.

It was bliss, perfection, holding her molten body curled up on him afterward. She was so warm. Her skin shone with a thin layer of sweat that he was tempted to lick off. Her muscles were absolutely limp, so trusting and content in his arms. He left his hands exactly where they’d been, just stilled them to hold her and memorize the feel of her most intimate places and she let him, just laid there boneless trying to catch her breath. It was the closest to peace he’d felt in what seemed like forever and he wasn’t about to squander it or forget it. It could have been minutes or hours later that Darcy weakly tilted her head to press a kiss to his collarbone. Against his skin, she mumbled, “Oh my god. I’m not going to joke about ambulances anymore. I should have called.”

He snorted and kissed the top of her head. Her hair was so damn soft and smelled like her lovely jasmine soap. “Don’t worry. I know CPR.”

“ _Yes_. You are perfect.” Darcy picked her head up enough to kiss his lips, slow and warm and drowsy with satisfaction. He loved that kiss and wanted a thousand more like it. After a minute, though, Darcy stilled and pulled back enough to say, “I’m sorry. I’ve come twice now and, side-note, both made the top five orgasms of my life. Tell me what you want.”

Feeling this happy and relaxed, he didn’t hesitate to answer. “Doll, I’m happy. Seeing and, god, _feeling_ how much you enjoy this is enough for me.”

Darcy didn’t answer for a moment, then kissed him once and whispered against his lips, “What if I want you to see you come?”

He swallowed, his brain fighting to push that bitter voice forward, but he didn’t let it. Before he lost his nerve, he answered her honestly. “To tell you the truth, this is already the closest I’ve been to getting off in…a year and a half?” Darcy pulled back, obviously to look him in the eye, and he met her gaze, ignoring the way his nerve-endings twitched. She still looked sexed-out, but also stunned. He shrugged his good shoulder. “Last time was with my hand in a shower downrange. Saw too many things, did too many things…and it kind of stopped working the same.”

She had such an expressive face and such big eyes full of thought. He felt like he could _see_ her thinking, but it was happening too fast for him to follow from the outside. Finally, her words halting and unsure, Darcy whispered, “I don’t think that’s the whole story. You can tell me if you want, but you don’t have to. I only want to know what you want me to.”

Bucky’s chest started to tighten and that voice took another step forward. No. He was not shutting down, not now, not like this. He slid his hands to safe territory at Darcy’s lower back, not wanting any association between his hands being _there_ and the words he was about to utter. “I’ll tell you someday. For now, I can confirm what I think you already know. I haven’t wanted anyone this way since before what happened to my arm, not even a flicker, but I’ve been _with_ Brock. He didn’t need me to enjoy it to get off himself. And I can tell you already know…I didn’t tell him to stop. I wanted him to, but I could never make the word leave my mouth.”

Tears shone in Darcy’s ocean-blue eyes, tears and fury. One of her hands that had been curled around his shoulder formed a fist instead, her nails digging into her palm. “I wanted to be wrong,” she said, her voice quivering, broken by tears ready to fall. “I so wanted to be wrong, but I couldn’t make myself believe that a guy who would leave you to die on the street had a code.” She squeezed her eyes shut tight and he watched as a tear trickled from the corner of one. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. I could kill him. I swear to god, I could kill him for putting you through that.”

Her words echoed Peter’s from that afternoon and just like then, Bucky’s insides twisted with shame and self-loathing even as that warmth bubbled in his chest, that knowledge that there was someone on his side, someone who would defend him at any costs, who thought he was _worth_ defending. For so long, Brock had been the only person in his life and the only words he’d known had been the ones insisting that he wasn’t worth anything better, that he was lucky to have anything Brock would give him.

He reached out with a shaking hand and brushed the tear from Darcy’s cheek, stroked along her cheekbone back into her lovely hair. She opened her eyes to met his gaze, her irises red-rimmed and flooded with tears that were still running. “Thank you,” he whispered to her. “I don’t want you to do that because I know what it’s like to sit up at night with faces burned on my eyelids and I don’t want that for you, but I love that you care that much. Just…promise me something?”

“Anything.”

He wiped away another tear track with his thumb, then said, “Promise me this doesn’t change things with us. I can’t…” he winced and shut his eyes, fighting to make the words keep coming. “I can deal with it when I’m here with you. Present. I don’t want to get lost remembering that shit. The best thing you’ve done for me, doll, was make me feel human and whole again. I can’t feel that if you treat me like I’m made of glass.”

Darcy didn’t answer for a long time, then, in that slow, teasing voice he loved, she said, “So what I’m hearing is…you want me to keep coming on to you? We can watch _The Witcher_ together. I’m definitely down for that.” He laughed and met her eyes, the tension draining from him in sheer relief. Darcy was giving him that crooked grin, though her eyes were still molten with feeling. “He was an _idiot_ ,” she said, still grinning. “He had to be to want you broken when he could have had this. You’re the sexiest man I’ve ever met, and I love hearing you laugh and _god_ when you smile, I swear I instantly ovulate.” That started him laughing again and he couldn’t stop as Darcy’s eyes went wide in earnestness. “I’m serious! Why do you think I sometimes run into walls and furniture around you?! I mean, I’m clumsy, but I’m not _that_ clumsy. My brain just fucking _flat-lines_ and maybe guys can think with their dicks, but my lady-parts have zero thinking capabilities beyond _you’re going the wrong way, bitch, hot guy is over there, get me some._ ”

He was now laughing so hard his chest was starting to ache and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed this hard, but fuck it felt good and he was not going to dwell on that. Not with Darcy looking at him like he hung the moon and cracking raunchy sex jokes that would have made Dum Dum do a double-take. No, he was right here and staying here.


	9. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anybody else excited about all the new character tags? :)
> 
> Trigger Warning for this Chapter: multiple references to past abuse and past non-con.

Bucky made Darcy go to her bed alone to sleep that night, thinking of her needing to work the next morning and wanting her well-rested.

He regretted it.

Insomnia had been his bedfellow for years, ever since the first time he’d watched somemone’s face become a spray of blood through his scope. Some kills bothered him and some didn’t. Sometimes he could see the most gruesome things imaginable downrange and never dream of them, and sometimes the sight of a living child clutching a toy and watching a convoy go by kept him up at night. That kid still sometimes showed up in his dreams, even though as far as Bucky knew he was still alive.

And after admitting out loud what had happened with Brock? What had _been_ happening for months? That Bucky hadn’t been the least bit interested in sex in over a year, but had put out for his asshole boyfriend throughout that time, had let Brock push for things he didn’t want to give and had never once said ‘no?’

The eighty-six minutes he spent unconscious were hell. The rest of the night he spent awake was torture. There was no winning when the monster you were running from was your own fucked up mind, calling up your worst memories and the worst things the people you loved ever said to you. There was no escape from the truth.

For some reason it was the marks that haunted him that night. Maybe it was Darcy’s adamant refusal to leave any on him that made him think of it. Whatever the case, all night his brain called upon the hundreds of marks Brock had left on him, reminded him of receiving them and of seeing them in the mirror. Not the ones from the beatings, though those were their own hell. No. The _brands._ The bruises that marked him as _Brock’s._

He never warned Bucky beforehand. Sometimes he could tell that Brock was in a particularly possessive mood, but not always and he could never predict when it would happen or where. But they’d be together in some way, physically, and Brock would growl that fucking word, _mine_ , and leave a mark, repeating over and over, _you’re mine._ Sometimes it was bruises from strikes. Sometimes scratches or cuts from his nails. Sometimes all it took was less preparation, less caring about the tone of the sounds Bucky made or how hard he gripped the sheets.

Sometimes it was a bite. He hadn’t spoken lightly when he told Darcy he trusted her with her teeth on his skin. He’d had enough bruises and even open wounds in the shape of Brock’s mouth to last him a lifetime.

And Brock was enough of an asshole that the marks were always visible in the mirror. He never said that was his intention, but Bucky had never had to look very hard to find the damn things afterward. They leapt out at him when he accidentally squared off with the mirror as he got dressed or stepped in or out of the shower. Impossible to miss. Impossible to mistake.

_Mine._ Property, not a person. He’d even joked about tattooing that four-letter word on Bucky’s skin more than once, said couples did shit like that all the time and Bucky knew they did, but he didn’t think it meant quite the same thing. He was pretty sure the recipient usually thought it was a good idea.

_Mine._

Brock didn’t own him anymore. Nobody did. And if Bucky had been in his right mind, he wouldn’t have allowed Brock to leave those marks. He knew that logically.

It just…wasn’t logical. It was more complicated than that.

The other thing that kept him up, in the respites between memories of Brock, was anxiety over seeing the Howlies again. Peter had been understanding, but Peter was sweet, always had been, and loyal to a fault. The Howlies were all loyal, but they’d cared for and respected Sergeant Barnes and he hadn’t really felt like Sergeant Barnes since he’d needed Peter to carry his half-dead sack-of-meat body to extraction. Sergeant Barnes had been made of iron, tough as nails, unflappable. He’d been understanding and intuitive, able to sense a mood among the men and settle them, but he was never subject to his own emotions. He never flinched, never hesitated, never doubted. There wasn’t room for any of that downrange and he knew it, knew it was his job to compensate for his men occasionally struggling to keep up that pretense. He had to be strong enough to reassure them at any given moment, had to put on another face like a mask and wear it so well that men he spent every day with for nine months at a time never questioned it. Hour-for-hour, Bucky had probably spent more time with Dum Dum in the course of his life than he had with his own mother, but Dum Dum had never seen him cry, not even after he’d delivered a headshot to that six-year-old girl and been looking into her dead eyes while Dernier said of the IED in her hand, _it’s a fake_. He also hadn’t cried when Bravo Team’s MWD got shot and was bleeding and whining the whole drive back to base and ended up dying ten minutes short of safety. Duchess was the dog’s name. Parker and Falsworth and Jones and most of Bravo were already losing their shit and Duchess’s handler, Kramer, wasn’t even hearing them anymore, just talking to her, listening to her die, so Sergeant Barnes had turned to stone and made sure they all got home. It didn’t matter that Duchess had saved his life and others more times than he could count, it didn’t matter that Kramer had taught her to sniff out cigarettes and beg the guys for them, it didn’t matter that she only had two and a half limbs now instead of four and that would have been Harker dead on the floor of the Humvee if she hadn’t been there and Harker was going on leave the next day to meet his five-month-old son for the first time. Everyone had to get home, so Sergeant Barnes locked it down and made sure they did.

He wasn’t Sergeant Barnes anymore.

Sergeant Barnes would not have said such cruel, cowardly things to his mother and little sister.

Sergeant Barnes would not have refused physical therapy because _it_ _fucking hurt_ and he was too proud to be retaught how to use a tv remote with his left hand.

Sergeant Barnes would not have dropped to his knees and opened his mouth like it was a reflex when his boyfriend said _it’s been a long day_.

Sergeant Barnes would not have cried and curled inward on himself when the same boyfriend threw things.

Sergeant Barnes would not have bit his tongue bloody rather than utter that goddamn two-letter word. _No._

He wasn’t Sergeant Barnes anymore. So how the hell was he supposed to look in the eyes of his men, men who had followed him into hell and fully trusted him to lead them back out? How was he supposed to explain to Dum Dum, who had seen him with hickeys all up his neck after a good night on leave, that marks weren’t okay anymore and never would be again? How was he supposed to lead a recon on the place he’d lived for a year on the premise that _he didn’t have a fucking key?_ How could he tell them what they were going there for: everything he owned that Brock hadn’t gleefully thrown away? How could he have this conversation with them without hating himself more than he already did?

When Darcy got up the next morning and began shuffling around the apartment guzzling coffee and getting ready for the day, he thought he was putting on a brave face, putting on his Sergeant Barnes mask. When she came out of her bedroom ready to leave except for her jacket and turned to him, though, he watched her face fall and knew he’d failed. “I can stay,” she said quietly.

“You shouldn’t,” he said. He didn’t give up what pretenses he’d managed, leaning against the back of the couch with his arms crossed to hold himself together, face as blank as he could manage. He’d even stuck spoons in the freezer while she’d been in the shower and held them under his eyes for a minute to ease the swelling around them. “I’m fine, doll. Just didn’t sleep great.” Darcy bit her lip, not looking at all reassured. She must have read right through him because she looked so damn sad and worried. When she struggled to find words, he added, “I’ll be right here when you get back. I’ll even shower and drink chocolate concrete in the meantime. Go on.”

Darcy’s muscles twitched, as if she wanted to launch across the room and hug him. She didn’t, but clearly not because it was easy to stop herself. She just somehow knew that touching was not going to help him right then. “Okay,” she finally said, her voice soft and wavering. “Can you please…just…if you need me, just go across the hall or next door? I get along really well with my neighbors, they’re great people, and they’ll call me no questions asked if you need me. Please?”

“I’ll keep that in mind, doll.”

“Okay.” She nodded more to herself than to him, then finished, “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

The morning crawled by, torturing him, mocking him. He was alone and he hated being alone like this and he wanted the time to fly so Darcy would be home, but when the time did pass his stomach sank thinking of how much closer he was getting to having to face the Howlies. He didn’t shower or drink chocolate concrete. He didn’t sleep or turn on the tv. He did exactly what he’d done most of the day for the last few months: sprawl on the couch and count the threads in the rug.

A knock at the door jolted him out of the fog.

Fear twisted his stomach inside-out, fear and guilty anxiety over being caught in Darcy’s space, being caught doing nothing useful. But Brock didn’t know he was here and he’d already met one of Darcy’s protective friends, Sam, who had liked him well enough. No one was going to throw him out or drag him out or hurt him or tell him he was an anchor on her life.

The knock sounded again, patient but insistent.

Bucky crawled out of the blanket cocoon he’d formed and walked on silent feet towards the door, noting the time. Was it really almost noon already? It could be Darcy, she knocked before she entered, but she wouldn’t have knocked twice. No, this was a stranger, but not so strange that they didn’t have access to the building. A neighbor?

He checked the peephole and found himself looking out at a short, stout, Latina woman of advanced age. She was eyeing the door anxiously, wearing a heavy purple housecoat in the cold hallway, and cradling a covered ceramic pot in one arm. _What the hell?_ The woman knocked again, then called in a worried, accented voice, “Mister Bucky? Miss Darcy asked me to check on you after church. I am Francesca from apartment 5C. Is everything okay?”

Bucky blinked, stunned, then shook himself and opened the door a few inches. Francesca seemed instantly relieved and smiled at him, offering the pot. “You must be Mister Bucky. This is for you.”

He blinked again. “For me?”

“Yes!” Francesca insisted, holding the pot out a bit closer. “Miss Darcy said she didn’t think you would eat lunch today and I decided to make you something. Here! For you.”

“Um…thank you,” he managed. Belatedly, kicking himself for being so rude, Bucky opened the door wider and Francesca shuffled right into the apartment and past him to the kitchen. Darcy had told her neighbor about him? And had said enough that the neighbor _cooked for him_? “I…don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll eat it and return my dishes freshly washed,” Francesca said with a shrug. Clearly, that this was not optional. 

Francesca placed the pot on the stove and removed the lid, releasing a cloud of aromatic steam into the air. Any doubts Bucky had evaporated and he let the apartment door fall shut. Jesus fuck, that smelled good. What was it Darcy had said to him that first night? _I’m okay with dying this way?_ Francesca wasn’t looking at him, was too busy scooping a heaping serving of whatever it was into one of Darcy’s cereal bowls, but she did smirk triumphantly as she explained, “Old family recipe, makes all the sadness go away. Eat.”

He didn’t argue or ask what was in the pot or demand to know what she knew that convinced her to cook him something specifically designed to make sadness go away. He accepted the bowl and spoon and sat at the counter with it because Francesca probably didn’t eat on a couch. She sat beside him with only a can of Coca-Cola stolen from Darcy’s fridge and waited while he dug in. He had no idea what it was beyond some kind of soup, but it was delicious and did actually make the sadness evaporate in the face of a tidal wave of warmth and life. There were so many different layers of flavor, he couldn’t help thinking of Francesca’s claim that it was an old family recipe and imagining her ancestors bickering over ingredients to add or subtract. It was like being transported into someone else’s kitchen, a kitchen where you were force-fed delicious food until you forgot why you were upset and instead found yourself laughing as a grandma dealt a cousin a _whack_ on the knuckles with a ladle. “Oh my god,” he said. “This is amazing. What is it?”

“Pozole,” she answered, smiling fondly. “Very common soup.”

“Doesn’t taste common.”

“That’s because any _pocha_ can make a pozole, but it took my family seven generations to create a perfect one. Eat.”

So, he ate and listened as Francesca told him, without prompting, about her five children and seven grandchildren, her first husband Jorge and her second husband Paulo, and the only family members currently living with her, her two dogs. The dogs were apparently the most worthy of discussion and were seven-year-old Labrador siblings inexplicably named Sugar and Splenda. “You’ll meet them when you return my dishes,” she said as if they were old friends. “They’ll be so happy to see you.”

Bucky let her talk and listened attentively, allowing Francesca to bounce out of her seat and refill his bowl when he got to within sight of the bottom. She didn’t pause for breath.

When Bucky had eaten three bowls of pozole and Francesca had finished her Coke, she put his empty bowl in the sink, threw her can in the recycling bin and made for the door. On her way, she reached up to ruffle his hair like he was her own son and say, “Now, you bring back my dishes nice and clean and I’ll put something else in them for you. _Hasta luego_.”

He followed her to the door, stammering out a very heartfelt thank-you and watching her shuffle all the way to 5C. When she was gone, he realized that he was smiling. With great care, he placed the partial pot of pozole in the fridge, then proceeded to shower and dress in fresh clothes. Darcy would be back soon with Peter at her heels and he was looking forward to them seeing him human.

\-------------------

With Bucky’s help and Peter’s wide-eyed supervision, Darcy filled the oven with enough chicken parmesan to feed twenty men and stocked the fridge with all of the backstock soda and beer from the cupboard. In the living room, she pointed Bucky to the kitchen with an imperious glare that he didn’t argue with. No way was she letting him do any manual labor with that arm, certainly not when she could have Peter help her rearrange furniture to maximize seating, including hauling the oversized chair from her bedroom to the living room. Peter blushed from his shirt collar to his hairline at the sight of the laundry scattered around her room, but if Darcy stopped to care about sweet puppy dog Peter Parker being scarred by the sight of her discarded bras, that might give her time to think about the way Bucky’s eyes had dilated seeing her in her bra last night and yeah…she very sadly didn’t have that kind of time right now.

He looked better. _Much_ better. She was so glad she’d said something to Francesca and though her actual words had been minimal, something about a friend going through a ‘rough patch’, she’d apparently managed to trip the ‘mom’ switch in the older woman and achieve the desired results. He smiled like he meant it when he saw her, laughed when she teased Peter, and three times now she’d caught him looking at her with a bit of a sparkle in his blue eyes. Much better.

She couldn’t wait to meet his men. She was eager to put faces to the names and see Bucky with a bigger support system, but more than that, she was really looking forward to being surrounded by people who also wanted the ex-fuckface six feet under.

If Bucky had given her more to go on than the guy’s first name, there was a pretty real chance he’d have already been dead by now. Or at least in a state of serious pain and embarrassment. She could have totally spent the morning commissioning Thor and Sam to hunt the bastard down and murder his ass.

_He didn’t need me to enjoy it to get off himself._

Death was too quick. She was going to make his life an absolute hell first. Bucky had spared her details, but Darcy had a few unwanted ideas in her head of exactly what _Brock_ had needed to get off that hadn’t involved Bucky enjoying the process. Bastards like that didn’t deserve sweethearts like Bucky in their lives. They didn’t deserve fucking _oxygen._

Fortunately, she had a feeling from watching Peter and Bucky’s interactions yesterday that the Howling Commandoes were going to agree with her. Peter worshipped the ground Bucky walked on and god help anyone who tripped him up. And most of the platoon was flying in from out of state at Peter’s summons, all of them coming when called with no more explanation than _Sergeant Barnes needs us_.

Then again, Darcy was pretty sure Bucky had never verbally admitted to needing anything in his life. For these men, maybe being told that Bucky needed them really was the equivalent of an SOS.

Bucky became twitchy and stiff in the hour leading up to five o’clock. Darcy watched him with no small amount of worry, noting that he had torn his fingernails down to the quicks and was chewing his lower lip, eyes dark with negative thoughts she couldn’t bear to hear. She made eye contact with Peter, noting that he’d also been watching Bucky’s nerves build. The poor kid looked ready to either choke someone or cry. Or both at the same time. Instead, he swallowed down his emotion, cleared his expression, and pulled out his phone to text someone. Bucky was too nervous to notice, but Darcy heard Peter’s phone vibrate in his hand a few times as he talked to the person on the other end. She hoped it was one of the Howling Commandos.

At twenty to five, Peter’s phone rang and Bucky looked like a bomb about to go off. Peter answered the phone in something resembling cheerfulness. “Hey, we’ll buzz you up.” He looked to Darcy, who crossed the room to her buzzer as he hung up. “Dum Dum must be eager to see you, Sarge. I don’t think he’s ever been this early for anything.”

Bucky took a shaky breath and Darcy moved slowly to stand behind him where he was sitting on the couch. She let him hear her high-heeled boots as she approached and very softly laid her hands on his shoulders as she bent down. He didn’t flinch, but he didn’t relax either. Into his ear, she whispered, “This is going to be good. And later, when it’s just us again, you and I are going to curl up here in as little clothing as is acceptable to you and drink hot cocoa. Kay?”

Bucky looked down at his hands and she watched one corner of his mouth twitch. Then, he forced his right hand to relax from the white-knuckle grip he’d had on his left wrist. “Okay, doll.”

She kissed his hair, then stilled at the sound of a knock. Bucky didn’t stiffen back up, so she left him to get the door. On the other side stood a man who Darcy could only describe as ‘big’ in pretty much every way that mattered. Tall, broad, portly, large bright eyes, obviously brimming-over personality. He had ginger hair mostly hidden under, inexplicably, a bowler hat, and laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. He was grinning like it was his default setting, but the smile didn’t meet his eyes, which immediately reassured her. This was who Peter had been texting, she was sure of it. He was here to put on a show, that much was clear from the grin, but he was also very worried about Bucky and very ready to eviscerate whoever had caused his current state. The big man gave a dramatic half-bow and extended a hand. “Hello, ma’am. Name’s Corporal Timothy Dugan. I hear you’ve got a couple of army punks here harassing you?”

“I’m Darcy and actually, I’m probably doing most of the harassing,” Darcy said with a wink and an exaggerated smile. “Sergeant Barnes takes one look at me with those panty-dropping baby blues and every bad pick-up line I’ve ever heard falls out of my mouth.”

Dugan’s grin widened enough to crinkle his eyes. “It is an absolute pleasure to meet you, Darcy. And where is the sergeant and his panty-dropping eyes?”

Bucky snorted at that and Darcy and Dugan both turned to watch him, flanked by Peter, cautiously approach the doorway. Darcy looked back to Dugan and, to his credit, his grin didn’t waver, but she could see the violence in his too-still muscles and flickering behind his eyes. Oh yeah, she could totally count on these guys to rip the ex-fuckface limb-from-limb. If Bucky told them half the things he’d told Darcy, no one would ever find the bastard’s body. “Sarge,” Dugan said with a sardonic salute. “I hear you’ve been busy ruining all of the beautiful women for the rest of us.”  
Bucky’s mouth was formed into something resembling a smile that had turned out looking grotesque and pained. His bruises were mostly faded but still unmistakable in this light and the way the shadows hit his face highlighted how sunken his cheeks and eyes were. Just looking at him in that moment, Darcy wanted to be sick in the face of all that pain. “Someone has to make sure they think twice about going home with you,” he joked back.

“Ha!” Dugan laughed. There was an odd beat where Darcy could practically feel the big man wanting to launch across the room and hug Bucky, but neither man moved. Then, Peter hugged Dugan instead. “Hey Spider-kid,” Dugan said, returning the hug briefly before giving Peter a noogie. Peter hissed and wriggled out of his grasp, though they both laughed and Bucky’s smile seemed a bit more real. Darcy wondered about the nickname and planned to ask Bucky later if it didn’t come up. Then, Dugan was staring at Bucky again, looking decidedly less jovial. “So,” he said. “Are you going to shank me if I hug you? I haven’t gotten a hug out of you since we were in Florida trying to see who could drink more Double Miami Vices.”

Bucky shut his eyes tight and hung his head, but the smile was definitely real now. He raised both arms and looked up to Dugan with tears in his eyes. “Why don’t you find out?”

Dugan suddenly grimaced like he was also holding back tears, then he and Bucky were hugging fiercely. Amazingly, Dugan wasn’t more than an inch or two taller than Bucky, it had just been hard to see with the way Bucky hunched in on himself like he was trying to avoid being hit. She hated that he did that, hated that his body had learned it out of necessity, and vowed to herself to do whatever she could to boost his confidence until he unlearned it. “Fuck, Sarge,” Dugan mumbled into Bucky’s shoulder, only just loud enough that Darcy and Peter could hear him. “You should’ve called, you masochistic bastard. You could’ve stayed at my apartment, paid your rent in making sure the dust wasn’t an inch thick when I got back from the ‘stan.”

Bucky snorted bitterly and shook his head, but didn’t let go. “I was fucked, Dum. I lashed out at everyone who tried to help me. Didn’t want to do that to you too.”

“And this was different from downrange how exactly?” Dugan growled drily. He released Bucky and shot a look at Peter. “Parker, how many times did Sarge rip you a new asshole for offering to help him with something?”

Peter cringed and looked to Bucky with no small amount of wariness. “I…don’t remember.”

“Yeah, you don’t remember because you fucking blocked it out it was so traumatic,” Dugan said, giving Bucky’s shoulder a playful shove. His right shoulder. “Dumbass,” he growled at Bucky, who only gave Dugan a long-suffering look. Then, Dugan shot a flirty wink at Darcy. “Guess we’re not pretty enough to be allowed to help, huh Pete? Although, I think that shade of lipstick would look good on you, Private.”

Peter turned fire engine red and sputtered while Bucky and Dugan looked at him with identical lascivious grins. Darcy shrugged, adopting a lewd smile of her one. “You’re welcome to borrow some. It’s called Cherry Bomb. Or I have a darker one called Femme Fatale that would really pop with your skin tone.”

While Bucky choked on laughter and Dugan made no effort to contain his guffaw, Peter struggled to make his mouth produce sounds. Finally, he choked out, “Um, no thanks. Looks better on you.”

With Dugan running the show, Bucky was too distracted to be nervous and soon, the other Howling Commandos were arriving. Jim Morita arrived at ten to five, followed closely by Gabe Jones and Jacques Dernier, after which Darcy began to fail epically at catching everyone’s names, a process made harder when everyone seemed to have multiple nicknames. Peter had earned the moniker ‘Spider-kid’ with his climbing abilities scoping out sniper nests in the mountains and she’d already known that they all called Dugan ‘Dum Dum.’ Bucky’s sniper handle was ‘Winter Soldier,’ apparently because when he got in his mission-headspace he went ice-cold. Some of the names were odd enough to stick, like Pinky and Trip. Falsworth and Manelli both spoke in accents that helped her keep them straight. She kept somehow mixing up Izzy and Koenig in her head, though, and was glad that there wouldn’t be a test at the end of the evening.

In all, there were twelve Howling Commandos. Seven were married, nine lived out of state, and still every one of them had dropped everything to pack a bag the moment Peter texted them yesterday. Darcy watched Bucky carefully for signs that he was getting overwhelmed but, despite some questions causing him to clam up, overall he seemed bowled-over by the show of support in the best possible way. Darcy was bowled-over too and she adored her friends, but wow. She had never seen such an impressive demonstration of loyalty.

She loved every one of these guys.

She hadn’t really had time to worry about whether they would like _her_. She’d been way too busy worrying over Bucky and then just getting everything together for this. Now that they were here, though, Darcy reveled in the compliments and the impressed looks she kept getting every time she replaced an empty beer bottle with a fresh one or cracked a raunchy joke or, best of all, flirted with Bucky. She did it partly on purpose in an effort to keep his confidence up through this and keep him feeling ‘present and human’ like he’d told her he wanted to be, but it was also partly that she couldn’t damn well help it. He’d dressed in the one pair of jeans he had handy for the occasion and a blue Henley that made her want to either snuggle him to death or rip his clothes off. The Howlies, though? Either Peter had briefed them more than she’d expected or they really could see a difference in Bucky’s personality because every time she flirted with Bucky, she’d watch him light up or laugh and get to see not only the sexiest man she knew accepting her advances, but also one or two of his closest friends watching over his shoulder with grins plastered on their faces. Darcy didn’t have to be a shrink to read those expressions. Bucky’s men thought she was making a real difference in his well-being and they supported her methods.

And that was before she served up the chicken parmesan. She didn’t have nearly enough seating, but some of the guys slumped on the shag rug in the living room or leaned against the rare bare spots on her walls to eat. The words and sounds of appreciation were enough to make Darcy blush and Trip loudly proclaimed that if Bucky had half a braincell he’d marry her for her cooking alone. Bucky had groaned and buried his face in his left hand at that, but Darcy could see his grin, so she responded just as loudly that she’d take him if he promised to do all the laundry.

“Well, shit, I’ll do the laundry _and_ the dishes!” Pinky exclaimed to a chorus of laughter. Bucky was laughing too and that would have been enough for Darcy, but then he shot a quick look at her out of the corner of his eye and blushed as red as her Cherry Bomb lipstick and she could have floated all the way up to Jane’s beloved stars on a cloud of joy.

No one asked any questions until after the dishes had been cleared away, not about Bucky’s situation, how he’d met Darcy, or even his arm, though the scars on his hand were clearly visible. When everything was cleaned up, Darcy perched on the arm of the couch and draped a hand soothingly on Bucky’s shoulder. He took a shaky breath and the room instantly quieted. “I don’t know what Parker told you guys,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion, “But it…means the fucking world to me that you’re all here. I can’t tell you how hard I’ve been on myself the last year for walking away from you all. I wish to God I hadn’t.”

“We wish that too, dumbass,” Dugan said, “But none of us were fucking surprised. Hell, Junior wasn’t sure you bled red until that last fight.”

“I was kidding!”

Dugan raised a hand for quiet, rolling his eyes. “I only mean that we all know what you did for us over there. We got into some deep shit on some of those ops and you knew we needed to feel immortal and you led by example. Not one of us really expected a call when you got med-boarded, but every damn one of us waited for it anyway.”

Bucky bowed his head, eyes on his mismatched hands. “Thanks, Dum. Anyway, when I got out, I was a mess in more ways than one. I pushed everybody away, not just you guys. The only person who stayed was Brock.”

The very air in the room changed, suddenly charged with tension. Eyes wandered and Peter and Dugan were doing nothing to hide their anger at the very sound of Brock’s name. It was Jones who spoke, though, his voice which had been so carefree up until now suddenly brittle with unease and ready vengeance. “Is this the same Brock that used to guilt-trip you on your calls home about how you had better make it worth the wait?”

Bucky stiffened and Darcy clenched her hand that wasn’t on Bucky’s shoulder into a fist on her lap. Every damn thing she learned about Brock made her more certain that she should tase his ass. “Yeah,” Bucky said wearily. He sounded a hundred years old. “There were a dozen reasons why I should have dumped him before, but when I came back in pieces I didn’t have it in me to fight anymore. And he knew just the right things to say to break me down into even smaller pieces.”

“He bust up your face?” Morita asked in a growl. He wasn’t the only one with eyes locked on the fading bruises.

“Among other things,” Bucky admitted quietly, eyes still on his hands. “All the permanent damage is in my head. I was depressed out of my skull, probably would’ve been even without his shit after how things ended, but every word out of his mouth cut like a fucking knife.”

“Tell me we’re here to kill this guy,” Jones said.

“Not yet,” Peter said with no small amount of bitterness. “Depends on how the next part goes.”

“What part?”

“Well,” Bucky said. He paused to swallow and Darcy felt his whole body tense while his throat worked, dry with anxiety. “When Darcy and I met a few days ago…I was on the street.”

“God damn it, Sarge,” Dugan mumbled, face dropping into his hands. “Why didn’t you fucking call?”

Bucky shrugged. “Shame. Didn’t think I would deserved it if you showed. But more immediately, I didn’t have my phone and it’s been awhile since I had to remember how to dial any of you.”

“Why didn’t you have your phone?”

For a moment, Darcy thought he’d be able to finish, but the words ran dry. Bucky fought them for a moment, then shook his head and dropped it to his white-knuckled fists. A moment later, Peter finished for him. “Because Brock _put_ him on the street, pockets empty. He said the sick fuck told him he was driving him to the ER after what he did to his face. Dropped him halfway across the city in January instead, no cash, no phone, no keys, not even his fucking tags.”

There was a ripple of quiet unease and fury around the room, the wrath palpable. Darcy found herself grinding her teeth, praying to god that Bucky wouldn’t stop them when they begged for his leave to kill that jackass.

“Sarge asked me not to kill Brock,” Peter said haltingly, making his displeasure at the situation very clear. Darcy blinked in surprise at that. Peter was so sweet and gentle it was hard to imagine him being so angry about not being allowed to murder someone, but there he was. “He did not say the same for all of you, but that’s not the mission, at least not yet. Brock threw him out two weeks ago and there’s a chance the fuck still has his stuff. Wallet, phone, tags, weapons, effects. We’re going to get back as much of it as we can.”

“Mission? Sounds like a job you could handle, Scrappy,” Pinky said not unkindly, his eyes on Peter. Maybe Peter could handle an intimidation job on his own under the right circumstances. Darcy found herself looking at the kid in a whole new light.

Bucky shook his head, though, and said, “Brock is Hydra.” Darcy didn’t have a clue what Hydra was, but clearly everyone else did because once again, the air in the room shifted, suddenly turning serious. Here was a team of soldiers at work. “Right now, he works private security for Alexander Pierce, but he did five years in Hydra’s mercenary arm and he’s respected by his colleagues. He’s not a civilian and he’s a grade-A asshole. It’s not a situation where one or two guys can knock on his front door and expect results.” Bucky bit his lower lip hard and laid his hand on Darcy’s knee, gripping hard. “And I’d really like to avoid him getting any ideas about tracking me here. If he thinks that would be at all feasible, he’d do it in a heartbeat. He’s got the skills and the personality for it.”

“By ‘personality,’ you mean he’s a sick fuck?” Morita mumbled.

“Exactly,” Darcy said, her tone every bit as icy as she felt. To Bucky, she said, “I wish you’d stay behind because you’ve had enough of his bile in your head, but I know you won’t.”

Bucky shook his head. “If I’m doing this, I need to do it myself. Otherwise, I’ll never be able to look in a mirror again.”

“Well, he’s going to be so scared shitless that the only bile he’ll be spewing is if I end up punching him in the gut,” Dugan said with a cheerful grin. He looked to Bucky expectantly. “So, what’ll it be, Sarge? We should move fast before he ditches any of your shit. You got enough intel that we can execute this in twenty-four hours?”

Bucky nodded stiffly. “He never goes out on Mondays. All we need to do is know when he’ll be back from work and take positions. It needs to happen while he’s there.”

“Hate to break it to you, Sarge, but a B&E would be the least interesting crime on my record,” Koenig said with a snort.

“I don’t want to give him ammunition against anyone here,” Bucky said. Then, he looked up and made eye contact with each of them. In that moment, Darcy could finally see the sniper hiding under all the vulnerability and gentleness, ice-cold, analytical, and lethal. As much as she loved how sweet Bucky was most of the time, she’d be lying if she said that that look wasn’t sexy as fuck. In a voice that would make the devil do a double-take, Bucky said, “Besides, I didn’t get a chance to say ‘good-bye.’”

“There’s the Winter Soldier. I missed that bastard,” Dugan said with a shark-like grin. “Let’s get to work, then.”


	10. Karma Delivered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I could have cut this differently to have chapters of a more uniform length, but then you guys would have to wait one more chapter for the moment we've all been waiting for. Instead, you get smut, bonding over revenge schemes, and sweet karma all rolled into the same chapter. Enjoy. ;)
> 
> Trigger Warning for this chapter: References to past non-con and past abuse; Brock Rumlow appears and comes bearing his own trigger warning like a calling card; excessive use of a taser.

The Howling Commandos stayed at Darcy’s late into the evening making plans. Darcy provided several sheets of drafting paper from SI that they used to sketch maps and draw up battleplans. Positions and back-up positions were chosen for A-Squad and B-Squad took on similar roles for their mission of stalking Hydra, which was every bit as important as stalking the apartment. B-Squad would be tasked with letting them know when Brock punched out and keeping an eye on his Hydra colleagues throughout the day and during the op to be sure none of them interrupted A-Squad’s mission. Darcy shook her head in astonishment staring down at the maps from her perch on the back of the couch, knees just barely pressing against Bucky’s shoulders like a security blanket. “Jesus. You guys really are pros, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dugan said with a tip of his bowler hat.

Bucky was blown away by his men’s loyalty, but also by Darcy’s. She was unendingly supportive of them, him especially, well beyond opening her home to them and feeding them, which was pretty amazing in and of itself. She was also making an effort to get to know everyone and make sure they knew her, the real her. He had never seen Darcy put on airs and she didn’t tonight. And throughout the night, her eyes kept moving to Bucky, constantly checking in on him, making sure he was doing okay under the pressure of so many eyes and emotional conversations. Whenever she could, she was touching him too, little ‘I’m right here’ touches like her hand or knees on his back, or a passing kiss to his cheek. The men loved her, every one of them whispering to him separately that he’d won the lottery finding her or some similar comment. He couldn’t agree more.

As the night wore down and the men began to trickle out, Darcy made a point to check in with every one of them that they could get back to wherever they were staying safely and he loved her for that. They’d been watching the blizzard pick up through her living room window and by ten o’clock New York was fast approaching whiteout conditions. Trip checked his phone at one point to find that the temperature had dropped well below freezing too. It was enough to twist Bucky’s insides knowing that only a few days ago, he’d been sleeping in an alley in similar conditions and if he still was, tonight would certainly be his end.

But he wasn’t because Darcy had saved him. He was never going to forget that.

It was after eleven when they said goodbye to Dugan and Morita, the last of the Commandos hanging around. It had been so good to finally see his men again and have them on his side, but Bucky was exhausted and when Darcy slid home the deadbolt and turned down the lights, he breathed a sigh of relief. Darcy heard him and said softly, “Same. And I have to be up in five hours.”

Bucky winced guiltily at that and sat beside her on the couch. “Shit, doll. I’m sorry we kept you up so late. You should get to bed.”

“Psh, I’m fine. You wouldn’t believe some of the Science Benders I’ve supervised Jane through. Remember that the night I found you I was walking home from work after a sixteen-hour shift.” She turned to him, her dark blue eyes big and sincere, not tired, her Cherry Bomb lips curved into a soft smile, the gentle waves of her hair looking especially loose at the end of a long day. “Besides, I haven’t gotten a free minute with just you all day. How are you?”

“I’m alright, doll,” he said quietly, touched by the attention.

Darcy’s smile quirked up a bit farther. “I noticed one of Francesca’s pots in the fridge. I was running out the door and ran into her, so I just told her you were here going through a rough patch and not to be surprised if she heard you or something. She must have stopped by?”

Bucky smiled a bit at the memory. A part of him wondered insidiously whether that was really all Darcy had said, but he chased that off as quickly as he thought it. Francesca was certainly perceptive enough to have inferred everything she needed to without Darcy’s help and he wouldn’t put it past her to lie about why she had showed up in an effort to make him more comfortable. No, the anxiety could not take this from him. To Darcy, he said, “She brought me pozole, saying that it chases all the sadness away. It certainly helped.”

Darcy’s eyes bugged. “Oh my god, that’s pozole? Her pozole is _so_ good. I’ve gone through four break-ups while I’ve lived here and she magically showed up with pozole the day after each one like clockwork. I hope you don’t mind that I said something, but I’m glad I did.”

He shrugged, still thinking fondly of Francesca talking his ear off and refilling his bowl three times. And Darcy’s words certainly reinforced his theory that Francesca was a bit psychic for these things. “I freaked out a little in my head when she showed up, but she’s amazing. I’m grateful to have met her and her pozole.”

Darcy laughed. Her eyes dropped then to his hands and she offered him one of hers, held out halfway across the space between them. He clasped it without hesitation and stroked a pattern on it with his thumb. Darcy hummed appreciatively at the touch and for a moment they just sat quietly, enjoying the contact. Then, Darcy’s smile fell a bit and she met his gaze again. “Do you want to tell me what happened last night? You didn’t wake me or anything, but you didn’t look so good this morning. I was worried.”

Bucky looked down at her hand in his and exhaled wearily just thinking of the terrible night he’d had. “I didn’t sleep much. Talking about Brock…after you went to bed my mind kind of took over remembering things I didn’t want to. And I was nervous about tonight. I doesn’t surprise me that I didn’t wake you. I’ve had problems with insomnia and nightmares for years, but so many of the bad nights were downrange that my brain is in the habit of refusing to make a sound. No screaming or talking or crying in my sleep like some guys I’ve known. So, there’s that I guess.”

Darcy’s face crumpled and he realized he maybe should have kept some of that to himself. He was getting a little too used to telling Darcy the truth, apparently, and he needed to check that before he divulged some of the infinitely more upsetting things in his head. “Shit, dude, I’m sorry. That sucks. If you have to go through that, I kind of wish you would make a sound so I’d know what’s going on and could help. I would have totally stayed up with you.”

“You shouldn’t do that. Your work is so important to you, I don’t want you going in short on sleep.”

Darcy snorted dramatically. “Buddy, you really need to meet Jane one of these days. Or Tony. Science never sleeps, that’s what coffee is for, and after this many years working for Jane, my brain knows better than to expect eight hours a night from me. And do you really think I’m going to sleep well knowing you’re up half the night dodging nightmares? No way.” She bit her lip contemplatively, then added, “You know, you could sleep with me if you wanted. No pressure or anything, obviously, but maybe it would help to have someone with you, even if I am asleep. And if you’re having a rough time I’ll actually wake up and can help.”

Bucky blinked in surprise and his throat began to constrict. If he was being honest with himself, sleeping alone last night probably had contributed to his stress. Sleeping with Brock had sucked, but at least he’d been able to tell his broken brain that someone was there watching his six, that he wasn’t hallucinating being stateside because there was Brock snoring away next to him. And downrange he’d always shared a room. Did she really want to lose sleep comforting him through his insomnia, though? He stared her down for a minute to be sure, but she totally did. He could see the earnestness in her eyes and the nervous way she chewed her lower lip, like she was afraid he’d say ‘no.’ “If you really wouldn’t mind, that would actually help a lot.”

“Mind?” Darcy said incredulously. “You think I could ever possibly mind sharing a bed with your sexy ass? As if.” She winked lasciviously at him and tugged his hand. “Come on. Let’s find some jammies and see if we can catch you some z’s.”

In anticipation of the Howlies taking up every available inch of the living room, Darcy had moved Bucky’s few personal possessions to her bedroom out of the way. She grabbed a glass of water and turned out the lights, then led the way there. Her bedroom looked like a tornado had swept through a thrift store that specialized in woman’s clothes and plush toys. He could only actually tell what color the carpet was because the chair she and Peter had moved into the living room had left behind an empty space. The walls were covered in band posters, mostly pop and nineties grunge. The bed was unmade to a degree that almost looked deliberate, pillows and plushies and blankets everywhere in a vaguely nest-like shape. His own clothes, the scar cream, and his owl were neatly stacked on the near corner of her bed, on top of a twisted pile of blankets. “Sorry it’s a pigsty,” Darcy said, moving to kick a path clear to the bed. “It’s pretty much always this way.”

“It’s fine,” he said honestly. “It feels lived-in.”

“That’s funny considering how little time I actually spend in here,” Darcy said. She motioned to his clothes. “If you want you can change in here. I’m going to go brush my teeth and wash my makeup off. If it’s okay, I want to put some of that scar lotion on you, though, so maybe leave the shirt off?”

With that, she was gone. Bucky’s skin crawled a bit walking to the bathroom to piss and brush his teeth shirtless, but he gritted his teeth. He’d been seeing those scars in the mirror for over a year, what was one more glance? Darcy was just finishing wiping off her makeup when he reached past her for his toothbrush and she blushed red and grinned. “I was so hoping you would leave it off. So hot.”

He rolled his eyes at her, but the words boosted his down-spiraling mood a bit. He watched her finish wiping off her makeup while he brushed his teeth. She was still a knock-out without the makeup, just a little bit softer, and he found himself looking forward to waking up to seeing her like that. Soft and innocent, something no one else saw. Darcy blushed again and left the bathroom, ostensibly to change into her own pajamas.

He took his time finishing up in the bathroom, not wanting to walk in when she was still changing. Maybe that was silly when just last night they’d both been shirtless pressed together and he’d had his hand down her panties. He didn’t want to assume anything or startle her, though. By the time he made it back to the bedroom, Darcy was curled up under the covers in her adorable glasses, checking her phone. Her arms were bare and he could just barely see a strap that told him whatever she called pajamas wasn’t nudity, but it was pretty close. He was not about to complain. He shut the door and Darcy laid her phone on the nightstand, sitting up and patting the bed beside her. “You can have this spot if you really want it, but I think you’ll feel safer if I’m closer to the door.” 

She said, so nonchalantly, like this was no big deal, like it didn’t mean the fucking world to him. “That’s sweet of you, doll,” he said softly, crawling across the foot of the bed to take the far side. Darcy just smiled and shrugged, then held up the jar of scream cream like an offering. Her pajama top was just a tiny little red tank-top and she was very braless under it, which totally sent his brain offline. He maintained just enough mental faculties to sit cross-legged facing her and offer his left hand. “Thanks.”

Darcy smiled crookedly and began massaging the cream into his fingers. The sensation was immediately soothing and his eyes rolled back in his head. “Yeah, because this is such a chore,” she said drily. “You know, we could be doing this a couple times a day. I’m totally on board with that.”

“Mmm. You sure?”

Darcy listened to the groan that slipped from his mouth when she found a knot just above his wrist, then said, “Oh yeah, I’m sure. Sweetie, I am never going to get bored of hearing you make that sound. Do you make that sound during sex, by chance? Inquiring minds need to know.”

“Maybe someday you’ll find out.”

“Sergeant Barnes, you tease! Please continue.”

He was way too distracted by how fucking good her hands felt on his arm to produce new material, though, aside from the sounds he was no longer fighting to hide after she’d asked for them. Sitting on her bed close enough that he could feel her breath on his skin, he kept his eyes shut tight, trying to maintain some tiny shred of distance and professionalism between them. It became harder when Darcy planted his open left hand on her thigh, her _bare_ thigh, so she could more easily work her fingers around his bicep. Holy shit her skin was soft and so damn warm. His muscles were tingling in relaxed pleasure where she’d finished massaging in the cream and bending and twisting under her thumbs where she continued to work, stretching and shaking off the tautness and quiet pain. When she found a particularly good spot on his upper pectoral, a ripple of something shot directly along his nerve endings to his spine and down to his core, wrenching a full body shudder out of him. “Okay?” Darcy whispered, her voice low and hoarse, reacting every bit as much as he was to this.

“Very.”

By the time she’d finished, every inch of scarring felt loose and liquid and his dick was every bit as interested as it had been last night. His brain was back to functional order, though, and preoccupied by gratitude and wonder for this woman with her generous heart. She’d done so much for him in the last few days. _Him_ , a stranger. Maybe the most stunning thing she’d done was convince him that he didn’t owe her anything in return for her kindness. She would have done this for anyone and expected nothing in return because that was just who she was: a helper. And he wanted to give her something back not because he felt like he owed her, but because he cared about her and wanted her to be happy, to have something good.

As Darcy retracted her hands and spun the lid onto the scar cream, Bucky opened his eyes. She was blushing almost as red as her tank-top on her cheeks and ample chest and he knew for a fact that that blush crept all the way down to her nipples, which were diamond-hard pressing against her top. She wore sleep shorts that covered very little and that he was fairly certain were loose enough around her lovely curves that he could get his fingers inside her without having to remove them. He needed them off anyway for what he had in mind, though. He began tracing a slow pattern on her upper thigh with his thumb and Darcy froze, the jar of cream still in her hands. “I was thinking, doll.”

“That sounds ominous,” she said teasingly, the corner of her mouth quirking upward. She leaned to the side and tossed the scar cream to the floor behind him. It clearly landed in one of her endless laundry piles because it didn’t make a sound. She met his gaze and he heard the tiny gasp she inhaled at whatever look she found on his face. He had the opportunity to actually watch her pupils dilate, nearly consuming her ocean-blue eyes. “What about?”

“You’ve been working so hard to make me feel good,” he said softly, thumb still tracing slow patterns. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to do for you to make you feel good too.”

Darcy’s breath began to come deeper and faster and her smile widened. “Good thing you know CPR because I have a feeling I’m going to need it.” She hesitated, though, and blinked hard, refocusing on him to search his face. “You don’t owe me anything. You know that, right?”

He nodded and shut his eyes, bending his head to lean his forehead into hers. The contact was so intimate, their noses brushing, their breaths commingling, that all the air left his lungs and took with it the last shreds of tension remaining in his body. That was probably a sign that he was falling in love with her, his very body associating closeness to her with safety and home. He’d never craved intimacy like this with anyone and didn’t know what else it could possibly mean. He expected it to scare him, to make him feel trapped like he’d felt trapped with Brock, but it was nothing like that. It felt like something sacred, something precious that he couldn’t believe he’d gone a lifetime without feeling, like he’d been missing a piece of his soul and hadn’t even known it, but could feel it living inside her, calling to him. Breath ghosting across her plump lips, he whispered, “You’re an amazing person and I care about you…so much. I don’t know if I could find the words or if they’d be enough. I think I can make you feel it, though. Feel how good you make me feel.”

“Wow,” Darcy said, her voice weak, knocked breathless. “Those are pretty good words. But yeah, um…you can make me feel…yeah. Whatever you want. Yes. Very much yes.”

A crooked smirk tilted his lips at how flustered she’d become. Maybe he wasn’t so bad at this after all. “Whatever I want, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” Darcy answered immediately, swallowing loud enough that he could hear her throat work. “There isn’t a damn thing you could do to me that I wouldn’t beg you to do again. I’m all yours.”

That was the confidence boost he’d needed and then some. He kissed her, soft barely-there kisses at first that made her whimper and press closer, then harder, longer kisses because she wanted them so badly. The moment he parted his lips, she was right there with him, opening for him and moaning when he tasted her and sucked on her lower lip. Her hand caught his on her thigh and dragged it higher so his fingers grazed her hip under her sleep shorts. If she was wearing panties, they were cut rather high on her hip, maybe another thong, and that image went right to his dick. With both hands on her hips, he hauled her into his lap and pressed her to him tight enough that he could feel against his chest the way her breasts pressed against the low neckline of her tank, begging to be freed. He made quick work of pulling the offending garment over her head and getting his mouth on her very needy breasts, thinking that it was an absolute crime for tits that perfect to ever be trapped in clothing. Darcy whimpered and moaned and rolled her body against him, one hand tangled in his hair begging him to keep at his task. The other hand he could feel tightening into a fist against his right shoulder and he marveled again at how even in the throes of passion like this, she didn’t even subconsciously allow herself to grip him too hard or sink her nails into his skin. Even when she was cursing like a sailor in amongst nonsensical groans, she valued him too much to accidentally hurt him.

He could feel how close she was and kissed away from her breasts down her sternum as he laid her back on the bed and bent over her. He could give her a hell of a lot better than a second-base orgasm and he intended to. When his fingers hooked her shorts and dragged them down her legs, Darcy arched her back automatically to help him and choked on a whimper. “Oh…fuck, yes. Please.” She was wearing a thong, translucent red lace cut high on her hips and curving back beneath her. He was tempted to roll her over and get a good look at that gorgeous ass, but he was already on a mission which could not be interrupted. He pressed lingering kisses over the lace, hands carefully teasing up and down her thighs and along her hips. She was soaked through her panties and smelled like sex and jasmine. He kissed her core over the lace, then dragged her panties off too and tossed them and the shorts in the general direction of not on the bed. Then, he nudged her knees apart and settled in to kiss down her sex and along the most intimate parts of her. Her legs began to shake almost immediately and he hauled one up over his right shoulder, steadying her and pulling her close. 

“Oh fuck,” Darcy gasped. “This is how I want to die.”

He chuckled and she must have been able to feel it against her flesh because every muscle in her body spasmed. “I’m not done with you yet, doll,” he murmured against her. Then, he opened his mouth and licked deep inside her, tasting her, making her cry out and thrash beneath him. She was so sensitive, so responsive, and it made him feel like a god knowing that he could make her feel so much. A flick of his tongue around her clit had her screaming and closing his lips around it, teasing like he might suck on it but stopping short, had her fisting her hands in the sheets had enough that he could hear the fabric creak. It wouldn’t be enough to let her come just yet, though. He wanted to draw this out, make her feel every nerve ending in her beautiful body, make her feel like a queen being worshipped. When she came, he wanted it to be so hard she forgot her name, so hard he might legitimately consider CPR. He kept going, kept lavishing attention on her, learning all the tiny spots that could make her come in an instant if he hit them just right, smirking when she screamed and shook and swore and begged, then whined and whimpered as he moved on. He added his fingers too, teasing her, filling her. Two fingers inside her was enough to make her body buck against him, drawing him in deeper, begging him to fuck her hard and deep until she screamed his name. And god, he wanted to, but he wanted this more immediately.

When he was satisfied, he played every spot he’d found at together with his fingers, his lips, and his tongue. Darcy whimpered the start of a scream that was cut off as her entire body went rigid. He kept going through it, refusing to let up on a single one of those hotspots, eyes on her face contorted with pleasure for an impossibly long time that he ate up every second of. After an eternity, her chest loosened enough that that scream came pouring out and it was his goddamn name, _Bucky_ , which was very nearly enough to have him coming right with her, hearing and seeing and feeling her pleasure as she clenched around his fingers.

When she at last came down, he released her with a final loving kiss to her core, then eased her left leg off his shoulder so she could lay there sprawled beneath him, gasping for air and shaking. Bucky shifted to lay on his right side beside her and sling his left arm soothingly about her waist. Chest bursting with adoration and pride, he watched her breasts rise and fall with each ragged breath, studied the shadows cast by her eyelashes, dark and long over her alabaster cheeks. 

“Oh my god,” Darcy at last mumbled, still gasping. “So…that’s how good I make you feel? That was the best orgasm of my _life_.”

Bucky chuckled at that and leaned in to kiss her lips. She kissed back drowsily, uncoordinated but very willing and blissfully happy. “You deserve an orgasm that good every day, doll.”

Darcy blushed and smiled, so warm and soft and sexed-out. A lazy hand flailed at him and slid gently up and down his ribs. “Want to feel you,” she mumbled. “All of you.”

He could have joked that she already had when she’d bathed him, but he didn’t. It wasn’t a joke; he wanted her to feel all of him too, wanted to be wrapped up in her with nothing but skin between them. He didn’t know exactly how complicated that would be, though, with how tangled his mind was. At the very least, he knew better than to try before he had at least some closure with Brock. So, instead of taking Darcy up on her very tempting offer, Bucky pressed a long kiss to her forehead and said, “Soon, beautiful. I have unfinished business first, though.”

Darcy frowned, squinting at him from beneath her heavy eyelids. “You mean what we’re doing tomorrow?” He nodded, his muscles already constricting at the thought of seeing Brock again. Darcy went utterly serious and held his gaze as she threaded her fingers into his hair. “Everything’s going to go right,” she said. “Your back-up plans have back-up plans. And when that bastard sees what he’s up against, he’ll have no choice but to be an adult about this. You’ll get your stuff and you’ll never have to see him again.”

“I hope you’re right.” He nuzzled into the liquid warmth of her hair splayed out on the pillow. Into her neck, he said, “Makes me feel a lot better knowing that you’ll be there, though. Even if I really don’t want him within a hundred miles of you.”

“I can take care of myself and you if I need to. The bastard isn’t going to win this one. We’ve got this.”

There wasn’t anything she could possibly say that his anxious brain wouldn’t spin around within ten minutes of contemplation in the dark, so he didn’t argue with her or give her room to issue more reassurances that wouldn’t stick. Instead, Bucky maneuvered them both beneath the comforter and into the nest of pillows, blankets, and plushies that Darcy had built in her bed. It was crowded and oddly soothing, like burrowing into a cave. He bundled Darcy close and breathed a shuddering sigh of relief when she tangled their legs and buried her face in his neck beneath his jaw. “Let’s sleep,” he said. “Big day tomorrow.”

“Leave the light on if you want and wake me if you can’t sleep,” Darcy murmured into his chest. She was halfway to dropping off herself, but there was an imperious tone to her voice anyway that made him consider obeying her. For now, he just kissed her hair and listened to her breathing level out. He did leave the light on. She was already asleep anyway and he didn’t want to jostle her just to reach the lamp. Besides, he wanted to be able to see her and the ridiculously cozy nest they were in, no room for second-guessing where he was or who he was with.

He expected to spend the night fighting not to crawl out of his skin worrying about seeing Brock again. He did spend some of it that way, but not all. Not even most of it. Every time his heart began to race and his lungs began to ache, every time his vision went foggy in favor of memories, he tightened his arms around Darcy and buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent. She was still unashamedly naked and her core temperature had jumped by what felt like about ten degrees the second she fell asleep. She was jarringly real and alive and so comforting.

Once, he squeezed a little harder than he meant to and Darcy mumbled something under her breath, burrowing into his chest and wrapping her arm securely around his ribs. He was about to apologize for waking her when she stopped him with a mostly asleep, “You can go to sleep and bone me tomorrow or you can bone me now. Those are your options.” He snorted at the imperious tone she used for the proposition and shook his head in amazement, but the easy humor softened his building panic and a minute later, he actually did fall asleep.

He woke once from a nightmare. As his wide eyes tried to process the warmly-lit messy room around him and as his skin protested that sand was definitely not this soft, Darcy laid a long kiss on his cheek and whispered to him, “It’s okay, sweetie. You’re in New York with me, Darcy. We’re safe. Most exciting thing that’s going to happen tonight is you maybe boning me if you’re feeling ambitious. Otherwise, you can go back to sleep. I’m keeping watch.”

A shuddery exhale left him and he met Darcy’s eyes, glinting in the lamplight beneath heavy eyelids and thick lashes. The nightmare evaporated at the sight of her sprawled across the right half of his chest, her face softened by drowsiness and her dark hair mussed by sleep and fooling around. She looked so beautiful it knocked the breath right out of him and the memories right out of his head. He combed his fingers back into her hair and she preened under the touch, leaning into him. “You always say just the right thing,” he whispered. “Keep doing that and I’m going to fall in love with you, doll.”

Darcy’s eyes snapped open, very alert now, and a slow smile crept across her lips. “Keep being so damn sweet and I’m going to fall in love with you, handsome. Think you can get back to sleep?”

“Maybe. Usually I remember, but…well, I forgot what I was dreaming about when I saw your face.”

Darcy blushed and grinned, ducking her head shyly. “You flirt. Well, I’m glad you forgot. Let’s see if we can catch you a few more z’s.”

He hadn’t been intentionally flirting, just being honest, too stunned by the situation to produce anything less than blatant honesty. Within minutes, he’d fallen asleep with Darcy watching over him and the next time he awoke was to her alarm clock.

\-----------------

When Darcy walked into Jane’s lab on Monday morning, the first words out of her mouth were, “We’re going to the ex-fuckface’s apartment tonight!”

Jane blinked away the Science Fog and her eyes went huge. “Yes! Let’s make a list. You’re only going to get one shot at this.”

And thus began the three hours Darcy and Jane and eventually a few other interested parties at SI spent making a list of things Darcy needed to do during the eight minutes the Howling Commandos planned to spend in Brock’s apartment. Peter had gotten the day off to contribute to the Howlies’ end of the plan, but they had plenty of other coworkers who passed by Jane’s lab throughout the morning and wanted to know who they were trying to make miserable and how they could help. Thor and Sam even contributed a few ideas over text. When Tony Stark himself walked in around nine a.m. to ask why they’d stolen Skye from Web Tech and Fitz-Simmons from Bio Tech, Darcy very bluntly said, “My new guy’s ex-boyfriend is an abusive fuckface and we’re going to his apartment tonight to get his stuff back. Want to help make karma happen?”

Tony blinked and dragged a chair over to join the loose circle they’d formed. “Um, obviously. Want some spy tech to keep an eye on this guy, maybe some bugs, cameras, trackers, viruses pre-loaded on USBs? I’d want to know whether my abusive ex was in the neighborhood. Skye will connect them to an app on your phone. And you’re putting Nair in his shampoo, right? That’s a must.”

“Yes!” Jane exclaimed, pointing at Darcy’s notepad. “Write that down!”

She did. She also accepted the box of spyware tech Tony Stark personally handed her, very much liking the idea of being able to have some control over someone who had so maliciously controlled Bucky’s very thoughts for so long. When Darcy told Tony that Brock worked for Hydra and had friends there, Tony just scoffed and said, “You wound me, Lewis. I’d like to see the idiots at Hydra try to trace this stuff. Actually, I can just use the virtual backdoor I have in their mainframe and literally watch it from the comfort of my desk, popcorn in hand. Oh, and when you get Bucky’s phone back, turn it off and bring it to me. We’ll get his stuff transferred to a StarkPhone securely so whatever Mr. Creepy may have used to track _him_ won’t be an issue. There’s a scanner in that box so you can check his stuff for physical bugs and trackers before you bring anything to your place. And if you try to pay me for any of this shit, including his new phone bill, I will be deeply disappointed and you won’t get a Christmas card. Well, maybe you will. Pepper will overrule me on that. But I’ll be disappointed.”

As he was scurrying off to head back to R&D, Darcy shook off the moment of stunned gratitude and called after him, “Wait. Tony?” He spun in place and faced her. Jane had offered to talk to Dr. Cho, but if she had Tony’s ear anyway…. “Thank you so much for everything. I hate to ask for anything else…”

Tony actually brightened at that. He was actually enjoying helping her. “Ask.”

Well, in that case. “Bucky got some nasty blast wounds serving in Afghanistan and the VA did a hack job of patching him up,” Darcy explained. “I was thinking of trying to get him an appointment with Dr. Cho for a second opinion and…”

“Done,” Tony said, cutting her off with a wave of his hand. “I’ll tell Helen to expect a call when he’s ready and fit him in at his convenience. You’re not paying for that either. With how much I pay in taxes it kind of pisses me off that vets pay for _anything._ And don’t worry, if she gets inspired to start an outreach program for injured military or recovering vets, I’ll send Bucky a check for his expert opinion. Actually, that’s not an ‘if.’ She’s doing it and I’m paying him a consultant’s fee, end of story. Start of story. Because this is how awesome stories start. Have fun delivering karma.” And with that, he swooped out of the room, leaving Darcy standing there slack-jawed and teary-eyed with awe. She really had the best friends in the world. 

As she returned to Jane’s lab to do actual work, Darcy thought that she’d have to come up with a way to thank all of these people, especially Tony, who she suspected didn’t get enough genuine gratitude. He’d never accept something she purchased, though, and it wouldn’t mean anything to him even if he did. She wasn’t very good at crocheting, but maybe she’d crochet him a blanket for the couch in his lab where he often fell asleep after Science Benders. It would probably turn out a bit uneven and oddly-shaped, but it would be a cozy reminder of how much he was appreciated. It was the thought that counted, right? Right. That’s what she’d do.

\------------------

Bucky was on pins and needles all day and the anxiety just kept getting worse as they approached go-time. Seeing Darcy walk into the coffeeshop where he, Dugan, and Peter were waiting for her had him breathing a sigh of relief, though, and the way she lit up when she met his eyes warmed something in his bones that had gone cold and stiff. She tossed her coat and purse on the empty chair at their table, smirking at Peter. “I didn’t know you played guitar. Chicks dig musicians, you know,” she said in that teasing voice Bucky loved.

Peter smirked and tilted his head at the very conspicuous guitar case leaned against his chair. “I don’t actually play guitar. It’s a custom case for a different kind of instrument.” Peter and his engineer brain had built the case specifically for his sniper rifle, which was basically his child. Bucky had bought him the parts he wanted to build the rifle himself as a Christmas gift a few months into their partnership. Peter had gotten misty-eyed and said it was too much, but Bucky had just rolled his eyes and pointed out that it was as much a gift to himself as it was to Peter since it meant that he wouldn’t have to listen to Peter constantly bitching about the specs on his Army-issue rifle anymore. Darcy didn’t know any of that and Bucky made a mental note to tell her the story later. She seemed to love Howling Commando stories.

Darcy pursed her lips and nodded. “Respect. I’m getting a latte, you guys good?”

Peter nudged his empty cup towards her and, blushing, said, “Caramel macchiato? Please.”

Dugan burst into laughter and gave Peter a teasing elbow to the ribs. “You’re such a cute little hipster with your caramel macchiato and your beanie and your acoustic guitar!”

Peter just grinned like a shark and shrugged. “Yeah, well, nobody looks twice at ‘cute little hipsters’ when they’re watching for snipers.”

Couldn’t argue with that. The guitar case even had a strap woven out of hemp and a smattering of pins and patches advertising bands Bucky had never heard of. He knew a lot of snipers and none of them besides Peter would be caught dead within five feet of that case or Peter’s caramel macchiato, but there he was looking as smug and innocent as could be. Maybe Peter had missed a calling with the CIA. If Natasha could see him now she’d be breathing down his neck trying to recruit him.

A-Squad had just checked in before Darcy walked in to confirm that the apartment was currently empty as best as they could tell and that they wouldn’t run into anything unexpected blocking their planned positions. B-Squad was waiting on Brock to clock out at Hydra and had eyes on Brock, his partner Rollins, his employer Pierce, and his car. Peter had scoped out his nest that morning and didn’t anticipate any problems getting into the bell tower of the old church across the street from Brock’s apartment. The guitar case would even give him some cover as most people who might see him enter the less public part of the church would assume he was a musician there to practice for Mass or something similar. When Darcy returned to the table with her latte and Peter’s caramel macchiato, they got her up to speed and she told them about the technical support she’d been personally offered by Tony Stark. Bucky thought his eyeballs might fall out and hit the table when she started talking about that. He had to admit that he liked the sound of keeping tabs on Brock and knowing if he ever did try to hunt Bucky or anyone else down. It was the kind of thing they would have liked to do anyway if they’d had the time and resources. Now, the resources were literally on the table in front of him and he sure as fuck wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

It was after six when the text they’d been waiting for finally came through from Trip. Dugan glanced at the message on his phone and his eyes sparked with excitement. “Target is in motion.”

Bucky checked the clock and instantly calculated the timetable. “Tell them we’re running the op at eighteen-fifty. Wheels up, Spider-kid.”

Peter nodded seriously, switched on the earpiece already in his right ear, and collected his caramel macchiato and his very lethal guitar case. “Just say the word, Winter, and I will gladly punch my time card.”

The word was ‘freight car,’ a code they’d used on dozens of ops where he and or Peter backed up the Howlies as a waiting sniper. Some missions were too delicate to go in shooting, but they’d have earpieces in and if the op went south, the lead, usually Bucky or Dum Dum, could authorize a killshot by saying the code ‘freight car.’ Bucky nodded and forced himself to take a shaky breath, turning on his own earpiece. “I will keep that in mind. Thanks.”

“You bet. Thanks for the coffee, Darcy. I owe you one.” Then, he was off. Nine minutes later, he confirmed over the earpiece that he’d secured the bell tower

At 6:38, Dugan received another text and grinned. “Our window just opened. Target is entering the building.”

Bucky swallowed hard and called on every shred he had left of the guy the Howlies called the Winter Soldier. He swallowed the last of his coffee and allowed his mind and body to settle into mission mode.

In his earpiece, Peter said, “Target sighted. He’s all yours, Winter.”

One last breath turned him to steel. Ready, Bucky said, “Green light.”

The walk to the apartment building was a blur. Morita and Pinky had been in the building for well over an hour already, having snuck through the locked front door alongside clueless neighbors thinking they were being a good citizen holding a door for someone. Junior had also just snuck in by pushing call buttons until someone let him in thinking he’d forgotten his key. One alley south, Jones joined their small party from the direction of the parking garage and Bucky led them to the front door, where he waved to the doorman and showed him his empty hands. The doorman, an elderly guy named Frank, opened the door and frowned at Bucky. “It’s Bucky, isn’t it? Where’s your key?”

“Brock and I broke up two weeks ago,” Bucky explained, feigning mild sadness. “I already gave him my key, but he texted me asking me to come by and get my stuff.”

Frank softened and held the door open wide. “I’m sorry to hear that. He just got home a few minutes ago. Go right up.”

“Thanks, Frank. I appreciate it.”

As they rode the elevator, Bucky began to shake. Darcy must have noticed, because she grabbed his hand to give it a quick squeeze, then released it before the doors opened. He was glad she’d remembered the rules they’d read her in on last night. No one was addressed by ranks or birth names on mission. No one said or did anything to indicate relationships of any kind among teammates. Breaking those rules meant Brock knowing more than he wanted him to know about any of them.

When they got off on the sixth floor, Morita and Junior were hovering in the hallway as if waiting for the elevator. Morita joined their party while Junior kept his post, making sure no one unexpectedly entered the floor after them. Pinky was at the door of the stairwell just down the hall for the same purpose.

The hallway felt a mile long and when they reached Brock’s door, Bucky wished he was anywhere else. He’d take Afghanistan over this any day.

In the earpiece, Pinky said, “Clear.”

Peter said, “Target in sight.”

One more breath, then Bucky knocked on the door of his personal circle of hell.

There was rustling in the apartment, then heavy footsteps that were enough to launch Bucky’s heart into his throat, choking him. Then, the lock turned over and the door opened. There stood Brock, still in his slacks and boots, though the suit jacket and shoulder holster were gone. He would still have at least one knife and maybe one gun on him, but though Sergeant Barnes’s analytical voice quietly noted that in Bucky’s head, the rest of him was consumed by trying to appear as cold and careless as he wanted to be in this situation. It wasn’t easy. The instant Brock’s eyes found his, his mouth curled into a smug smirk that made Bucky feel like a chastised child. “Bucky. Took you long enough to come back. I’ll admit, I expected you a week ago.”

“I’m here to collect my things,” Bucky forced himself to say. 

Thank fuck, the words came out as cold as his soul felt in that moment and Brock’s smirk wavered. He looked beyond Bucky and noted Darcy and Dugan flanking him, plus the rest of A-Squad feigning a casual interest from various points in the hallway that were within sight of the door. Brock’s face twisted into narrow-eyed disbelief. He puffed up a bit and very deliberately spoke over Bucky to Dugan. “Who the fuck are you?”

Dugan grinned in that way that made him look like a gleeful cannibal. “We’re the friends you’ve been telling him not to call. You still have his stuff, right? It wouldn’t be good for you if you’d gotten rid of it.”

Brock snorted at that and raised an eyebrow at Bucky. “Is this for real? Where the fuck are you going to go? Do these idiots know what a shitshow you are? I put up with you, but nobody actually _wants_ your sorry ass.”

“Then it’s a good thing I won’t be your problem anymore,” Bucky said. The words took all of the oxygen he had and his lungs didn’t want to reinflate again after Brock’s biting words, words he must’ve said a hundred times before. He knew he was supposed to say more, but that was all he had.

He could feel Darcy’s shaking shifting the air to his right and he hoped she wouldn’t draw attention to herself. He appreciated her support, but he absolutely did not want Brock to realize what she was to him. Thankfully, it was Dugan who spoke before she could. “You’re only going to make this worse for yourself if you don’t watch your mouth, asswipe. Just give us his stuff and we’ll leave all your favorite appendages attached.”

Bucky could actually hear Brock grind his teeth. He glared directly at him and growled, “You sure you want to do this? Your pets won’t be around forever and then you’ll be crawling right back here. Maybe I won’t take you back and you really will starve.”

Peter said over Bucky’s earpiece, “Come on, Winter. Target’s a fish in a barrel, let’s breach.”

Right. This was an op. Just an op. He could do this. “You in a hurry to get back to Boston, Dum?” Bucky asked Dugan, trying for a conversational tone. In reality, the panic was rattling inside him, choking him, and he could barely see straight through it.

Dugan grinned. “Nope. No hurry at all. And since Spider-kid’s from Queens and Bomb-boy-age’s from the Bronx, I’d say you’ve got plenty of friends in town.”

Brock looked at them all with utter disdain. Then, his eyes filled with that dark threat that never failed to make Bucky flinch and Bucky watched him palm the combat knife he kept at his waistband. He directed that glare at Bucky and asked in disbelief, “Is this supposed to _intimidate_ me? Is that what this is? I can hardly tell because you’re such shit at it.”

He used to be a pro at intimidating people, but maybe he _was_ shit at it now if all it took for him to rethink this whole op was knowing Brock had a two-inch blade in his hand. This was taking too long, it wasn’t going to work, the guys and Darcy were going to realize what garbage he was, and then he really would be either crawling back to Brock or throwing himself off a bridge. At least Peter and B-Squad weren’t hearing this firsthand. The earpieces were only strong enough to pick up the voices of the people wearing them.

In his ear, Peter said, “Target has a knife. Say the word, Winter, and we can all watch this guy’s head explode.”

Brock wasn’t done, though. He took a step closer, breath hitting Bucky’s face, that cologne he was conditioned to cringe from curling around him like chains. Bucky’s muscles locked up, his jaw aching with the effort to keep back a whimper. And Brock knew it, knew he had him where he wanted him, and with that grin that meant pain he said, “You don’t scare me. You’re the same pathetic slut that was crying like a bitch at my feet two weeks ago when I shoved my cock so far down your throat you choked. And when your _friends_ realize that’s all you’re good for, you’ll be right back there again.”

The words felt like he’d been gutted and Bucky’s throat instantly closed up with nausea and blind panic at the memory, but when every man in the hallway lurched forward, Sergeant Barnes stuck out a hand to still them, still very aware of the knife Brock had palmed. It didn’t matter, though, because in the same instant, Brock was suddenly seizing, the knife dropping to the carpet and his face contorting in a grimace as he fell to the floor with two taser darts embedded in his crotch. Bucky stared wide-eyed down at the man who’d broken him, helpless and flailing in the doorway, face taut and keening with pain, staining his pants and the carpet when his bowels let go. 

Sounding a hell of a lot more dangerous than any of the men within earshot, Darcy growled at Brock, “This cock? Sorry, buddy, but it’s going to be a while before that works well enough for you to choke anyone with it.” A moment later, Brock passed out, still twitching from the taser current, laying there in a puddle of his own making. Bucky looked to Darcy, stunned speechless, but her eyes were still on Brock, still tasing him even though he was out cold. Yeah, his cock was not going to recover any time soon. “Winter,” Darcy said, all business now that she’d gotten out some of her rage. “Go find your stuff. Dum Dum, Jonesy and I will keep this waste of skin out of the way.”

Still speechless and shaking now that the adrenaline was wearing off, Bucky stepped over Brock to enter the apartment, listening as if from underwater as Dugan said, “Help me haul this shit inside. We’ll tie him up somewhere uncomfortable.”

Jones’s only response was a hushed murmur to Darcy, “I hope your man knows he’s lucky to have you.”

Bucky certainly felt lucky to have Darcy at his side, but that was about all the good luck he could claim and that felt more and more distant as he shuffled through the apartment that had been his personal hell for a year. Brock had moved the couch back to face the tv head-on. Bucky had suspected that he only turned it so Bucky would have to look over his left shoulder at the tv and strain his scar tissue, but here was the proof. And that was only one set of bad memories among many. He walked through the kitchen where he’d had everything from food to flatware to dishes thrown at him. Past the bathroom where he’d nearly drowned in the shower more than once with his mouth full of Brock and his nose full of running water. Towards the bedroom where he’d spent hour-for-hour more time crying than sleeping in the last six months. 

The bastard deserved the karma Darcy had delivered and more. 

Bucky found most of his possessions in trash bags in the hall. They’d apparently come to collect it in just the nick of time. The bags contained his clothes, cds, and toiletries. The foot locker containing his kit sat next to them and he looked through it to be sure everything was there. He put on his tags the second he found them, tucking them under his shirt where he could feel them. They made breathing a little easier. His wallet was there too, though it was empty of cash, of course, and his passport and VA papers were where he’d left them in the kit. His phone was there too with everything else immediately identifiable as his. Maybe Brock had meant to toss the footlocker in the river where it wouldn’t be found and traced back to him. Bucky took the battery out of the phone and checked for a tracking device. There wasn’t one visible, but he left the battery out anyway, knowing that if it was turned on Brock could probably track it with his Hydra tech. He’d send it with Darcy to Stark Industries tomorrow, where Tony Stark himself had apparently insisted on securely transferring his data to an untrackable StarkPhone. That still blew his mind. 

His sidearm was missing, but he knew where to look for it and found it on the top shelf of the closet, right next to Brock’s. Unlike him, his guns were worth keeping. He checked the mag, threw the extra ammo in his kit, and donned his holster, which had also been in the closet. His breathing levelled right out at the familiar weight of the weapon at his hip, hidden under his jacket but so easy to grab if he needed it. His rifle was in its case in the corner of the closet beside Brock’s and he grabbed that too. He felt more like Sergeant Barnes then than he had in a year.

His prescriptions were still in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, supplemented by refills Brock had apparently picked up even though Bucky hadn’t been living here. Maybe the jerk had intended to sell the damn things. After going through the withdrawal on the street and now actually feeling clearer and more in control with them out of his system, Bucky didn’t intend to ever use the drugs again. In fact, he had a suspicion that the Zoloft was a big part of the reason why his libido had been so stunted, seeing as his dick had woken right up in the last few days now that he was clean of everything. He grabbed every bottle anyway because they were his and he did not want Brock to have them. Besides, he wanted the information on the labels so he could have a conversation with the VA about them giving control over his prescriptions to his abusive boyfriend.

He tossed the pill bottles in one of the garbage bags with his clothes and tied it shut, nodding to Morita and Pinky, who were hovering nearby looking ready to punch a few holes in the walls. “This is it. Looks like he still thought I’d crawl back until it got so fucking cold last night.”

“You know, you’re right,” Morita said darkly. “I don’t want to kill this guy either. That’d be too damn easy.”

Morita and Pinky each took armloads of his stuff and between the two of them looked like they’d manage it in one trip. When Bucky reached for his foot locker, Morita gave him a look and shook his head. “You really think we’re going to let you haul that downstairs yourself? You got your tags and weapons?”

“Yeah.”

“Then we’ve got this.”

Bucky swallowed hard, moved by the thoughtfulness. A year ago, he would never have let someone carry his stuff for him, but his mess of a left arm was not going to cooperate with that now. He clapped Morita on the shoulder in appreciation and moved past him to the living room, slinging his rifle case over his right shoulder. In the living room, Jones and Dugan had produced several lengths of rope and tied Brock in a stress position Bucky recalled Natasha using for an interrogation he and Dugan had attended downrange. Apparently, Dugan had remembered that experience as well as he had. Brock was still unconscious and Darcy had rearmed her taser and holstered it, but was still shooting glares at Brock’s cramped form while she talked quietly with Jones, who appeared to be following her instructions to rig the apartment with Stark’s spyware. Darcy herself was closing Brock’s laptop and replacing it precisely where she’d found it on the coffee table, pocketing a USB drive. Dugan had stripped Brock of all his weapons and his phone and wallet, which were in a pile on the coffee table, well out of reach. The plan had included going through the wallet to photograph Brock’s driver’s license and credit cards for stalking purposes and Darcy had joked about pre-paying for a year of Netflix with Brock’s card. Bucky wasn’t entirely sure it was a joke and wasn’t about to argue if it wasn’t. Someone had also been in and out of the bathroom while Bucky talked to Morita and he couldn’t help walking over to Darcy and asking quietly, “What are you up to, Cherry Bomb?”

“Nothing strictly illegal,” she said, smiling in a way that was positively wicked. She seemed to like the codename she’d chosen last night. Peter had turned beet-red and buried his face in his hands when she’d first announced it. “We’re never going to get back in here without a B&E and we didn’t want to miss a chance to remind our friend Mr. Rumlow of who’s in control now.”

As shitty as this day had been, her words and actions were enough to make something warm bubble up through the cracks in his chest and he barely resisted kissing her before moving on to where Dugan was supervising the immobile Brock. Brock was currently drooling on himself and still sitting in his soiled pants, which appeared to have blood on them mixed in with the shit and piss. It didn’t really surprise him that Darcy hadn’t been gentle pulling the taser darts out of his crotch. Bucky looked down at Brock for a long time partly in disgust and partly in satisfaction at finally seeing the bastard experiencing a fraction of the shame he had felt. “Gag him too,” Bucky said, the Winter Soldier’s cold voice coming through now that the fear was flickering away. It was hard to be afraid of someone who looked so stunningly pathetic. “I don’t want anyone finding him just yet. We’ll let Rollins know he has some cleaning up to do in…say…eight hours. That’s enough time for him to shit himself again and maybe acquire some permanent damage to his hands.”

“You got it,” Dugan said, sounding very satisfied by the orders. He immediately proceeded to unlace a boot and retrieve his own sweaty sock to gag Brock with.

Speaking into the earpiece, Bucky said, “We’re wrapping up here. Thanks for the cover, boys.”

“Can I get visual confirmation of the target’s current state?” Peter asked bitterly. “You assholes dropped him under the window.”

Bucky looked up to find Darcy currently photographing Brock with her cellphone from several angles. It was enough to make him smirk. “Don’t worry, the Taser Queen is already on that.”

Darcy grinned at him and showed him her phone. “Like my new background? It used to be a dog sitting in a birdbath, but I think this is funnier. Oh! Spider-kid replied to my text. He says he’s going to print it out life-size and use it as actual wallpaper.”

Bucky burst into laughter. Out loud, he asked Peter, “Where exactly will you be wallpapering that?”

“My bathroom, obviously,” Peter said in the earpiece. “It relaxes me.”

Dugan, also listening on his earpiece and now laughing hysterically, called out, “Hey, Winter! Know any good bars between here and base? I’m feeling the need to open a tab somewhere.”

“If you’re buying, I definitely know a good bar,” Bucky said to Dugan. Darcy gave him a molten look that translated clearly as a promise to kiss him senseless as soon as he deemed the mission officially wrapped. A smile stretched across his face, probably the widest smile he’d felt in years. The best part, though, was that he had a really good feeling there would be more smiles like that to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Liebekatzke and everyone else who has been filling my head with fantastic ideas for how to make Brock’s life hell. Don’t worry, some of those ideas are going to come up in future chapters, so if you were hoping to see firsthand Brock’s experience with discovering Nair in his shampoo or some of the other karma-riffic ideas you guys came up with, just wait. Also, thanks to Liebekatzke for the conversation about psych meds and Hamaliel for pointing out that Brock is totally the kind of person to rearrange their apartment just to passive-aggressively put someone else in pain. I love hearing everyone’s ideas and predictions in the comments and cannot express how much even you lovely folks who send me short comments or <3s brighten my day. You’re all wonderful and I adore you. 
> 
> If you want to know more about tasing someone, read on… Fun fact, writing this chapter involved extensive research on the short and long-term effects of being tased. If you wanted to know, a US police Taser will automatically shut off after five seconds unless triggered again, but a civilian model like Darcy's will continue to shock for thirty seconds unless shut off or triggered again. Loss of muscle control is the obvious immediate side-effect and loss of bowel control can occur. Most people will feel normal or even adrenalized within seconds after being tased, but be convinced not to do anything that would cause them to be tased again because it really sucks. Excessive tasing (cough*Darcy*cough) can cause burns where the darts touch the flesh, unconsciousness, long-term neurological problems, and, if the electrical current runs through the genitals, long-term erectile dysfunction. The darts are barbed like straightened fish hooks so they stay in place during tasing and I really didn’t see Darcy or anyone else present for this scene going to the trouble of attempting to remove them gently, though there is a procedure for that. And yeah, Darcy totally knows all of this about the effects of tasers when she does it to Brock and I don’t blame her at all for using a taser as a torture tool.


	11. Free

With a lift from Dugan, who had driven to New York from Boston in his oversized Jeep, Bucky, Darcy, and Morita swung wide to Darcy’s apartment to drop off Bucky’s stuff, then met the rest of the platoon at the bar they’d picked six blocks to the south. It was a former speakeasy that was embracing its heritage as a historical favorite of the Irish mob in the ambiance and liquor specials. By the time they got there, the rest of the Howlies had shoved a table together with a booth and were a round of beer and a round of shots in. When the platoon spotted them crossing the underground pub, cheers and hoots rose above the din of the music and nearby conversations and Bucky grinned at their enthusiasm. A moment later, everyone had fresh pints and seats at the crowded table. They’d barely sat when Dugan was standing again with his glass raised. “As one of the very fortunate folks at this table who had the supreme pleasure of a front-row seat to the best show on earth, I would like to propose a toast to the MVP of the day, Miss Cherry Bomb!”

Roars of agreement rose around them and Bucky joined the rest of the Howlies in cheering and toasting Darcy, who was grinning proudly and blushing. She turned to meet his eyes next to her, though, and stood, instantly quieting the cheers. “Thanks, guys, but tasing that dickwad was one of the easiest things I’ve ever done.” She raised her glass, smiling softly at Bucky. “Tonight belongs to the toughest guy I know, the Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes. There aren’t words for how much I admire you, dude. In your shoes, there’s no way in hell I could’ve done what you did. You’re free now and you can start over and _you_ did that. Congratulations.”

She toasted him and the table erupted once more in heartfelt cheers and agreement, every one of his men who he respected and loved the hell out of toasting him. Bucky hugged Darcy fiercely and pressed a kiss to her temple. Facing Brock had been absolute hell and he was a bit in shock that he’d managed it, so the praise meant the world. The praise and compliments and those words, _you’re free now._

He knew this might not be the end, that Brock would probably look for him after the insults he’d endured today, but he wasn’t going to think about that right now. Right now, he was free and tonight was for celebrating that.

The beer was good and the whiskey was better. Laughter and jokes reigned and it felt the way it did the first time Bucky had been on leave with all these guys, back when they’d known each other long enough to be so close but not long enough to have seen so much shit. They rehashed all the best stories, everyone enjoying having Darcy there as a fresh audience, and they talked about their families and plans. Trip was engaged to his girlfriend Maria and planning to marry her when she got home from deployment. That of course prompted all kinds of teasing about wedding bullshit and the fact that Trip was marrying a servicewoman, but he’d picked an Air Force pilot instead of an Army girl. There was also new material since Junior had managed to accidentally stumble on a half-dressed Natasha Romanoff on base a few months back and was now head-over-heels in lust with her. Bucky was pretty sure that the attachment was more to do with Romanoff shaving off one of Junior’s eyebrows with her combat knife and threatening to take his eye too if he didn’t steer clear than it was to do with anything else. Bucky couldn’t blame him when he was sitting next to Darcy, who was drop-dead gorgeous but also absolutely terrifying when she wanted to be, two equally alluring traits.

He could not have done this without her. He wouldn’t even be alive without Darcy, but he also would not have found Peter, would not have had the guts to call in the Howlies, would not have been able to stand his ground without falling to pieces in the face of Brock’s wrath. She got him through and he loved her for that.

He loved her. And, as his eyes continually strayed to her throughout the night, as every time he caught her gaze the world melted away and it was just them, as sitting beside her with his hand on her thigh and her arm looped around his waist he felt at home, he came to accept that he was _in_ love with her too. He was in love with this kind, funny, beautiful, fierce woman who adored him.

\-------------

Darcy tried to stick to the Guinness, but it wasn’t easy when there was so much to celebrate and when that Irish whiskey was going down so easy. She was definitely tipsy, which of course meant she was also bubbly, flirty, and awkward, but what else was new? And besides, most of the table was actually drunker than her. Dugan had started singing a rendition of “Piano Man” that was surprisingly good and had inspired participation by a few of the Howlies, so at least she was sober enough to not be serenading anyone.

Although, if she was being honest with herself, she was tempted to serenade Bucky. She wasn’t going to, she had _some_ self-control, but the thought definitely crossed her mind.

He kept _smiling_ and _laughing_ and looking at her with those unfairly gorgeous steel-blue eyes in that way that told her he adored her. _Her._ Darcy loved herself as she was, but she had never inspired a look like _that_ from a guy before. He looked ready to write poetry about her…or eat her out again. Jesus, fuck, she hadn’t been joking last night when she’d said that was how she wanted to die. She had a lot of reasons she wanted to live for many more years, but if she was going to die anyway, she could happily go with that man’s face between her thighs. Wow.

She’d immediately wanted to return the favor. Giving blowjobs wasn’t her favorite activity by any means, but she had not been lying when she’d insisted to him that he had the best dick she’d ever held and besides, she really did want to see him come. She wanted to know what sounds he made, wanted to watch the look on his face, wanted to know if he’d say her name as he lost control. Most of all, she wanted to see him that relaxed and happy. He deserved that after the hell he’d been through. Darcy firmly believed that sex was wonderful, at least it was supposed to be, and it was something to enjoy and a way to show people how much you cared about them. She was seriously awful with words, the last five days were great evidence of that, but she knew she could show him how much she loved him with just touch given the chance.

Yeah, she totally loved him.

In fact, she loved him more than she’d ever loved any guy. She couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss a few days back, about the look in his eyes when he’d said _show me_ and the way her heart had just fucking poured out and the overwhelming reverence and awe and desire she’d felt returned by him. She’d kissed him intending to tell him that she loved him and he’d blown her away and said it right back.

And then last night? When he’d woken from that nightmare and she’d happened to say the right thing? And he’d said _keep doing that and I’m going to fall in love with you_? She’d tried not to make anything of it because he’d been half-asleep when he said it and people didn’t just say things like that and mean it, at least not to her. She hadn’t lied or exaggerated when she’d said it back, though, because she was totally falling in love with him. He was so damn sweet and funny and selfless and brave. She’d been falling for him since she first saw him knocking on death’s door in that alley and there was a moment in Brock’s apartment today when she’d realized she was completely gone on him.

It was as they were finishing up and Bucky had been looking down at Brock and watching Dugan gag him with a sock. Not that traditionally romantic, but Darcy would never forget that minute in which she’d watched Bucky realize he deserved better than what the last year had looked like, had fought for better, and had won. He was free of Brock’s bullshit and recovery isn’t linear, Darcy knew that, but in that moment, she’d watched the fear slough off Bucky’s shoulders like a heavy coat he no longer wanted. In a matter of seconds, his posture changed, straightening and broadening, filling his frame so he wasn’t cowering anymore like he’d learned to. He’d smiled so freely and laughed almost giddily at her and Peter’s antics. It was a glimpse of who he was when he wasn’t broken, who he’d been before and who he could be again now that he had a chance to move on and rebuild.

She loved him. She was _in love_ with him. She wanted to see that smile and hear that laugh every day for the rest of her life and know that the sweetest, funniest, sexiest guy she knew was happy and whole and with her.

Thank fuck that alcohol didn’t affect her filter, which was poor to begin with, because she really didn’t want to be confessing her undying love for Bucky in front of the whole platoon. She was probably being ridiculous flirting with him and touching him, and she kept catching herself staring at him like an idiot. She tried to turn her attention elsewhere when she could so she wouldn’t completely embarrass herself and frequently ended up talking to Peter or Dugan, who seemed to be the closest to Bucky and have the best stories about him.

At one point in the evening, Darcy prompted Dugan about the phone number game while they were collecting another round for the table. “I need to see you guys play,” she said as Dugan laughed, having just recounted one of the evenings he’d managed to beat Bucky by constantly swapping their drinks so Bucky got drunk faster. Apparently, Bucky turned into a sleepy, needy drunk on the right cocktail and could never get a single phone number once he hit that point. Darcy was tempted to test this just because she loved those moments when he dropped his guard and just let her snuggle him. “I know his confidence level isn’t really there now,” Darcy continued, “But I told him it’s on my bucket list to witness this.”

Dugan’s blue eyes sparked with mirth and his grin about split his face. “Well, I’m sorry to tell you this, but you’re never going to get to see that and it has nothing to do with his self-confidence.”

Darcy frowned. “What do you mean?”

Dugan deliberately turned his eyes to Bucky and Darcy followed his gaze, catching Bucky staring at her from across the bar. He blushed, but the crooked hint of a smile he wore didn’t drop, a smile like a secret, and he didn’t look away, holding her gaze brazenly as he took a swig of his beer. Darcy stared back in awe, reminded suddenly of her assertion that if Bucky actually put in the effort to flirt with her, her panties would drop so fast they’d end up halfway to China. In her ear, Dugan said, “You really think he’s going to get a single phone number looking at you like that? I used to have to beat girls and guys off of him with a stick when we’d be out like this but not a single one has come up to him tonight. Think about it. Would you give your number to a guy who made heart eyes like that at someone else?”

“Not a chance,” Darcy breathed, stunned nearly speechless.

“Exactly. That guy is never going to get another phone number again because everybody with eyes can see that he’s taken and always will be.” Dugan looked back to Darcy, still grinning. “This is the part where I could give you a shovel speech, but it’s really not necessary. I already know that you saved his life, fed him and housed him when he had no one else, reattached his fucked-up brain, and tased some jackass who talked shit about him. So, congratulations, kid. You’re going to be disgustingly happy together.”

Darcy blinked at Dugan, stunned. Then, her traitor skin blazed red-hot and she grinned like an idiot. “Thanks, Dugan,” she said. She reached out and hugged the man fiercely and when he hugged her back without an ounce of hesitation, her chest felt fit to burst with pride and joy. She was in love with Bucky and one of the men who knew him best, who respected him most, was telling her that Bucky was in love with her and that she had the Howlies’ blessing. It meant the freaking world.

Just then, Peter stood on his chair, eyes manic with drink and still surprisingly graceful. Darcy would have definitely face-planted pulling that stunt. “Oi!” Peter called, silencing the bar. “Some of us have to work tomorrow and don’t want to miss out on a _very important phone call_.”

Bucky rolled his eyes dramatically and stood, though at least he was standing on the floor, not a chair, and definitely looked less drunk than Peter. “If you insist. Got your phone ready?”

Peter hopped to the floor, StarkPhone in hand, and Darcy and Dugan hurried back to the table with a tray of whiskey shots. Darcy went to Bucky’s side and placed a reassuring hand on his hip as he took Peter’s phone, which was already displaying Rollins’s number on an otherwise black screen, the indicator that the call was in Ghost Mode, a setting Peter had enabled on his phone with Jarvis’s help to bounce the call through dozens of satellites, making it untraceable. Bucky took a shaky breath, laid his free hand on Darcy’s, and pressed the call button. A moment later, the phone was to his ear and he was listening to it ring. “Rollins. It’s Bucky,” Bucky said after four rings, his voice calm and cold. For a moment, Rollins replied while all the Commandos silently tried to listen in and failed over the din of the bar. “Doesn’t matter how I got this number. What matters is that your partner seems to have gotten himself tangled up in something and cut use a hand. You may want to check on him. Oh, and…sorry to ruin your evening.” He hung up and the Howlies erupted in cheers and laughter while Bucky smirked. He handed the phone back to Peter and tightened his hand on Darcy’s.

Darcy leaned in on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, saying in his ear, only for him, “It’s done. You can start over now, blank slate.”

Bucky looked to her, smiling softly, and said, “It’s not blank. I know exactly where I want to go.”

Still a little shaky from her conversation with Dugan and knowing that Bucky might need to laugh right now, Darcy shot him a saucy grin. “Would that be my bed by chance? Because you are _always_ welcome in my bed.”

Those blue eyes sparked and that sinful mouth turned into a wicked grin. “Actually, yeah.”

 _What. The. Shit._ One of her knees buckled and she stumbled into his hand that had somehow found her hip. Mouth suddenly dry, legs suddenly useless, Darcy fumbled for words for a minute, staring at that obscene panty-dropping smile. Had she just ovulated? Was that possible? It felt like she’d just ovulated, no fucking joke. Finally, she responded, “Well fuck. Um…yeah. Whenever you’re ready. Yeah. I’m…totally on board with that.”

Saying goodbye to the Howling Commandos took a bit longer than Darcy really wanted it to, but she couldn’t really blame anyone for that. Except for maybe Dugan, who was grinning impishly like he knew how eager she was to leave and why. He probably did.

The walk back to her apartment seemed to take ten years and ten seconds at the same time and then she was struggling to bolt her apartment door behind them while Bucky’s tongue was in her mouth, completely overriding all higher-level thought. When she managed it, she shoved her coat off and let it hit the floor, then was helping Bucky out of his, still kissing him and being cautious of his left arm. He had hardly used it the last few hours, she’d noticed, and it must be bothering him. That thought shoved her libido to the back burner and she forced herself to pause the kissing. As she panted, just out of reach of his mouth, she mumbled, “How’s your arm?”

Bucky blinked about six times, momentarily confused and seemingly fighting his way through a whole lot of lust-fog. At least she wasn’t alone in that. “Um…what?”

“Your arm?” she repeated, still sucking in air. “You’re not using it and I don’t want you to be, like, in pain. You’re probably due for ibuprofen, right? Or I could massage it with the cream?”

Bucky blinked at her again and Darcy’s skin began to crawl and her face began to flush as she regretted stopping the kissing with reminders of his injury. What was she thinking? Before she could fall too far down that rabbit hole, though, Bucky leaned in and gave her the gentlest kiss she’d ever felt, like he thought her skin was made of ash, ready to blow away. Lips brushing hers, he whispered, “You’re so damn sweet, doll. I can’t tell you what it means to me that you noticed and said something. It is bothering me and it’s going to get worse if I don’t do something about it.”

“Well, we’re doing something about it. You’re getting ibuprofen _and_ a massage because why not? Come on.” She tugged him by his right hand behind her to retrieve the ibuprofen and a water glass, then proceed to the bedroom. She planted him on the bed with the ibuprofen and water and proceeded to hazily search her floor for the scar cream wherever she’d tossed it in a fit of lust-induced stupidity last night. When she found it, she plopped down on the bed facing Bucky and tried to focus on keeping her hands and eyes steady as she removed the lid. “Shirt off, please?”

She tried not to watch him and make him uncomfortable, but in her peripheral vision she noticed that he grabbed the back of his shirt in one hand and tugged it over his head without raising his left arm. She’d seen him do it before, but it still twisted her gut. It was the kind of thing people did when they were missing an arm, but he was doing it because his left hurt so bad it wasn’t worth using. She really wanted to have a conversation with his VA doctors about that, which reminded her of Dr. Cho and Tony Stark. As she rubbed the scar cream into his hand, eyes fixed on what she was doing in an attempt at privacy and professionalism, Darcy said uncertainly, “You know…maybe this is overstepping, so just tell me to, I don’t know, fuck off if it is…but I really think you should have someone who actually went to medical school look at this. Stark Industries has a bio-med division that does really amazing work and I have pull to get you a consult if you want it.”

She could actually hear him swallow and when he responded a moment later, his voice was tight with nerves. “I don’t know, Darcy. I’m not a huge fan of doctors and I don’t have the cash or insurance for any more work on it. I’m kind of stuck with this.”

“Well, if it’s just the money stopping you, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Darcy said, her thumbs moving up his forearm. She felt a knot about halfway, worked around it the way she’d learned to from a few hours of online video training, and smiled when she got to hear him moan and feel the knot unwind under her fingers. “SI does a ton of outreach work and partners with outside contractors for research all the time. If I told them that they could help you as a starting point for a philanthropic project helping other guys in the same boat, you’d never see a bill. Hell, they’d pay you for your input as a contractor just so they could start a new project. I know Tony Stark, SI’s owner, and he totally has a soft spot for vets. He’d be chomping at the bit to help you, seriously. And it wouldn’t just be, like, a way to get discounted care or whatever. They’re the best in the country and letting them help you would seriously give them the excuse to create a new outreach program for other vets with similar injuries that they could reach out to. You’d be helping others, not just you.”

She could practically hear the wheels turning in his head and knew she’d said the right thing somewhere in that rambling pile of words. She remembered Sam’s insistence that ‘this is not a guy who accepts help easily.’ If it was just for him, Bucky would never accept a handout, even if it meant less pain. He had probably only stayed with her because she’d insisted enough that he hadn’t had the energy to argue. But if she pitched it as a way to help other guys like him….

“You think if they worked on my arm, they could use it to help other soldiers?”

Bingo. Darcy met his eyes and smiled softly, reassuringly. He looked nervous, would probably be vibrating out of his skin if she wasn’t massaging his arm right now. “I don’t think it, I know it.” She moved up a little bit and found that spot in his bicep that had been carved out by shrapnel and was always bad. Bucky’s eyes rolled back and fell shut as he groaned. “Dr. Helen Cho heads bio-med and she’s considered one of the best research MDs in the world, so you’d be with the best of the best, and she has whole projects that she only does charitably. Like one of the bio-med labs specifically works on vaccines for Third World countries and when they crack one, they mass-produce it and donate it, no strings attached. It’s amazing. And I’m serious, Tony loves vets. He used to build weapons for the military and has a ton of friends who are active duty or vets, but he got out of the business when he realized his stuff was being resold to terrorists. Instead, he works on building better gear for keeping troops safe and aiding pararescue missions and whatnot. Sam was pararescue, that’s how Tony got into the pararescue project. After he met Sam, Tony built this equipment he calls Wings that’s basically a jetpack designed to help guys like Sam get into tight places under heavy fire and lift injured guys out. And Tony makes stupid amounts of money, but he donates, like, millions of dollars a year to various causes, including nonprofits that serve vets. If he saw this arm and you told him you got it done in a VA hospital, fuck dude. He’d be breathing down the DOD’s neck shoving better equipment and procedures at the VA and making sure that the bad cases got SI-level care. It makes him crazy that troops come home in pieces and can’t even get proper care sometimes and he’s only happy when he’s helping people. If you let SI help you and use the information, seriously, he’d be _ecstatic_.”

She’d made it to his shoulder, close enough to smell his skin. Bucky opened his eyes to meet her gaze, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. “You already talked to him, didn’t you? You wanted to make sure you could get a consult before you suggested it to me and you’re paraphrasing his response.”

Darcy’s cheeks burned and she cringed. Oops. “Um…maybe? Well…yeah. I didn’t want to get your hopes up if I couldn’t make it happen, so I asked Tony when I saw him this morning. I swear, I’m not exaggerating any of this. Actually, he flat-out promised to write you a check for a consultant’s fee if you let Helen see your arm.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but that hint of a smile hadn’t faded and his gaze returned to her. “Promise me you’re not going to pay a dime for this or miss work or anything.”

She blinked, stunned that he’d even thought of that. Did this guy think of himself, like, ever? “I promise. Tony doesn’t joke about things like this, you and I would never see a bill and I wouldn’t need to miss work. I’d just flex my time.”

Bucky exhaled and bit his lower lip. “Okay. When do you think they could fit me in? Like…a month? Two months?”

Darcy couldn’t hold back her snort at that. “Yeah, you need to meet these people. If you said tomorrow, Helen would clear her schedule. Tell me when you’d be comfortable and I’ll make it happen.”

Bucky bit his lip harder, but then she found a good spot on his upper ribs and his facial muscles went slack again. “ _Mmm_ …shit. Umm. Maybe…after my bruises fade? I’m already going to feel…”

“Vulnerable?” Darcy finished softly. She didn’t stop what her hands were doing, but leaned in to press a soft kiss to his left shoulder. She couldn’t exactly help it, not when he was feeling so fragile and insecure. That was the last thing she wanted him to feel. “I hear you. I’ll see what Helen has going next week. The bruises are already fading to that kind of greenish color, they’ll be long gone by then.”

“Thanks, doll.”

“Sure. And I’ll flex my schedule so I can go with you. I won’t miss hours or anything, it’ll be fine, but I can be there with you in case the whole medical thing makes you nervous.”

Bucky laid his right hand on her thigh and squeezed. Darcy met his eyes and felt her lungs just empty at the emotion she saw there, almost like he’d kicked her in the chest. Gratitude, reverence, amazement, adoration, desire, _love._ “Darcy,” Bucky breathed. Her hands stilled and her lungs failed to reinflate. Was this happening? Please let this be happening. Bucky choked on the words he’d meant to say, though, and a flash of pain and uncertainty twisted his features as he just looked at her, silent.

For a fraction of a second, her chest ached as she considered that he might be second-guessing his feelings about her. He clearly had feelings, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t rethink them or let them fade. But then she remembered his words from the other night about struggling to ask for things and how he hadn’t hesitated or flinched once after she’d taken the lead. She knew insecurity like the back of her hand, had lived and breathed anxiety and self-loathing at a point in her life. She didn’t feel it now, but it wasn’t the sort of experience you just forgot. And she was nervous now, and scared, because if Bucky was all in one piece he’d totally be out of her league and because he was fragile, might disappear and leave her broken if she went all-in on this. Those fears meant nothing right now, though, because she couldn’t stand seeing him afraid, not when she knew how to fix it, not when all she had to do was say the words.

Darcy gave up on the massage, which she was done with anyway and had just been prolonging to help him relax. Instead, she moved closer to straddle his leg and slide her fingers up into his hair. She’d noticed the way he melted at little touches like her hands in his hair or stroking his jaw or temple and resolved to do it until he got used to it because he deserved to feel that good that often. It was like he was touch-starved, like he’d forgotten what these happy little sensations were like and subconsciously needed them now. And he did melt this time, his muscles relaxing and his hands curling loosely around her hips, keeping her in the spot she’d found on his lap. Darcy leaned in and kissed his forehead, then met his gaze, his eyes like rain. She felt nauseous and jittery, had never once in her life been the first to tell someone this, but she knew she had to this time, knew he’d never find the confidence to do it first. And he needed to know, _deserved_ to know. “Hey,” she whispered. “I tried to tell you the other day, but…I’m shit with words so I kissed you instead. Maybe you need to hear it out loud.” Bucky’s eyes shone with sudden tears and his jaw hardened in a fight to keep them from falling. That desperate look was what got the words to fall right from her lips and tears to pool in her eyes. “I love you. I love you so much it terrifies me and I wasn’t going to say it because it’s scary, but you deserve to know that I love you. And maybe that’s fast or scary or too much pressure and you don’t have to say anything…”

He was kissing her then, though, stealing all the remaining words she was ready to trip over and replacing them with passion and need and gentle reverence. Her breath left her lungs in a _whoosh_ for the second time and she was kissing him back, desperate and needy, fingers winding into his hair, eager to convince him not to stop kissing her or pull away or any of those terrible ideas. In seconds, his hands tightened on her waist, holding her there and then pulling her in closer so they were tangled together, his solid chest pressed to her feeling so warm and safe. They kissed long enough that Darcy lost track of time and was dizzy when he pulled away and, when he did, it was only for a moment. A moment long enough to whisper, “I love you too.”

While he sucked on her lip and she completely fucking _soaked_ her panties just like every time he did that, Darcy chucked the scar cream at another laundry pile and pushed him. It wasn’t enough that he couldn’t have stopped her, but he let it happen and in a moment he was on his back on the bed with her draped across him, still kissing her. Between breaths, Darcy asked, “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, and his voice sounded fucking wrecked and _she_ had him feeling that good, which was so heady and amazing. They continued to kiss like that for what could have been two minutes or twenty, but she could feel him rock-hard against her hip and Darcy was not going to miss a chance to make him come this time, not when it was so important to see him relax and let go and smile and laugh, not when it was so important that he feel desirable and wanted and sexy. She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anyone before and he needed to know that, needed to be shown that and made to feel it.

“Can I take my clothes off?” Darcy asked. Really, she wanted _his_ clothes off, but he’d be miles more comfortable if they were on even footing.

Bucky snorted at that. “Doll, you never have to ask me permission to go around naked. It should be a crime to cover those curves up.”

Darcy grinned and blushed like a schoolgirl. Every now and then he threw out lines like that like they were a given, but _fuck_. “Well, in that case.” She rolled off of Bucky and wriggled out of her clothes, giggling and struggling when his wandering hands or mouth impeded progress. Finally, though, she was naked and they were tangled up side-by-side, his skin hot against her chest, his hands stroking and teasing and wandering over her curves. When he dug his fingertips into her thigh and hauled her against him, Darcy gasped and mumbled against his mouth, “Can I touch you? Over clothes. Please?”

Bucky hesitated, but it must not have been over her intent because he still sounded sexed-out when he answered, “Yeah, doll.” She really wanted to get to the point where it stopped surprising him that she cared about his feelings on touching. Jesus.

She wasn’t going to think about that right now, though. Not when she had him present and happy and wanting her, not when she had a chance to show him how badly she wanted him and remind him of what being together like this was supposed to feel like, something she was sure he hadn’t felt in a while. She snaked her hand down between them and cupped his erection, stroking slowly up and down over his jeans. Still the finest dick she’d ever held and she hadn’t even gotten to hold it fully erect yet. Bucky groaned at the friction and kissed her harder, goading her on. _Fuck_ , yes. She kept going until his fingertips were digging into her thigh and his hips were just barely stuttering against her before she said against his lips, “Want to feel you. Please? Take these off?”

He didn’t hesitate this time, hands moving from her skin to work on getting his jeans off as they continued to kiss. When he got his jeans off successfully and stilled, lost in the kiss with his right hand on the waistband of his boxer-briefs, Darcy got brave and sucked on his tongue. As soon as she let go, Bucky mumbled, _“Fuck_ ,” and shoved off the rest of his clothes so they were both completely naked and tangled together. 

It had been seven months since Darcy was like this with a guy and God, nothing felt better. And Bucky was needing a little less leading now, hands all over her, pulling her tight against him, tangling their legs together so they were sharing the same space and so she could feel every glorious inch of his hard cock pressed against her belly. _Jesus, fuck._ Seriously. A primitive voice in her head that was getting progressively louder was screaming, _Fuck, yes, put that in me NOW._ Darcy let her hands trail to his hip, her thumb teasing inwards towards his navel, unmistakable. “Can I?” she gasped between needy kisses.

“Mmm, yeah,” Bucky groaned. That was what she wanted. A second later, she slid her hand back where it had been, this time with nothing between her skin and his. Bucky hissed at the contact, but leaned into her, their foreheads pressed together as they kissed and shared oxygen. Very gently, she stroked him, up and down, thumb sweeping over his tip to tease. The second time she did that, she found a bead of pre-come there and used it to lube her fingertips, his skin hot and smooth under her hand, his muscles tense against her, his mouth insistent, begging her wordlessly not to stop. 

Before long, he was shaking and she didn’t know how long he would last, but she did know that she didn’t want him to come like this. She pulled back from the kiss, fighting for air, and murmured against his mouth, “I want you to come in my mouth.”

“ _Fuck_ , doll,” Bucky groaned, hips involuntarily thrusting once into her hand. “Shit. Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Darcy kissed him one more time on the mouth, then pushed him gently onto his back and maneuvered down the bed, eyes on his. His pupils had about consumed his irises, wide with disbelieving lust, and his lips were red and swollen, parted as he struggled for breath too. Darcy straddled one of his legs when he smirked, she did too, knowing he could feel how ridiculously wet she was right. She grabbed his right hand and laid it on her shoulder, deliberately. “You’re in control, okay?” she said. “All you have to do is move me or say ‘no.’”

Bucky’s eyes slammed shut and he grimaced for just a moment, then so sweetly stroked the side of her face back into her hair with that hand. He opened his eyes then, pupils still blown with desire but sheened with unshed tears. “I love you,” he whispered.

Darcy could only smile at that and keep going, keeping him present like she knew he wanted to be, lips trailing teasingly along the sensitive skin at his upper thigh. Eventually, she’d get him to the point where she didn’t have to constantly check in, where she could trust him to say ‘no’ if he needed to. Eventually, he’d stop looking at her like she was some kind of angel just because she knew what consent was or just because she knew how to be kind to him or respectful of him. It would take time and practice, but in that moment there was nothing she wanted more than to help him get there. 

Before he could get lost in memories, Darcy trailed her mouth to his cock and drew a line from root to tip with her tongue, reveling in his exhaled ‘ _fuck_.’ Was he a talker? God, if this sweet nervous guy turned into a talker when she got him out of his shell, _wow_ that would be great. Just to see, she sucked just the tip into her mouth and listened as he choked on a cut-off ‘holy fu-.’ Smirking, she met his eyes (he was _watching her_ , fuck _yes_ ) and said, “Don’t censor yourself on my account. I like knowing what I’m doing is working.”

“Christ, Darcy,” Bucky groaned. And then he was cursing again as she took him into her mouth again, deeper this time. When she pulled back, sucking and swirling her tongue around the tip, his hips stuttered, begging for more and he gasped, “Holy fuck, doll. _Shit_. _Fuck_ me.”

Oh yeah, she could get used to this. Darcy grinned and said in her best bedroom voice, “If you insist.” Then, she took him as deep as she could go, pulling back and pushing down again and again, deeper every time as her body relaxed into this. He _was_ a talker and goddamn did she love hearing him moan and curse as she worked him, hands always moving, head bobbing slow and deliberate, listening and feeling for his reactions and repeating the little things that got him to curse or twitch. He never once pushed or pulled or gripped her, never put his fingers in her hair, never once thrusted up to meet her and she was _not_ going to analyze whether he was being that gentle because that was how he was or because he was used to being on the other end of this. She probably wouldn’t be able to help thinking about that later, but right now she had him groaning her name, thumb trailing along her jaw so damn sweetly, by far the best cock she’d ever sucked hard and ready in her mouth. She was relaxed enough now and she bent just a little farther to take him into her throat and swallow. He came instantly, hot and wet down her throat, face twisted in pleasure, gasping. She remembered what he’d said about how long it had been for him when she had to still herself and swallow a third time, but _fuck_ she was never going to forget the look on his face or the way he sounded gasping her name. _Nothing_ was ever going to compare to that and her body screamed at her, on a knife’s edge ready to come untouched just watching and listening to him.

When he stopped shaking and his body went liquid under her, Darcy peppered a few more gentle kisses on his dick and on the sensitive skin nearby. A slow, lazy smile curled his mouth and she couldn’t help grinning at that. It was everything she’d been hoping for and more. “You know,” she drawled, “I think you could make me come just smiling at me like that. Christ, dude. That’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Bucky’s smile widened into a grin and he pried one eye open to watch her crawl back up him and ooze across his chest. “Honestly? My face doesn’t know what to do right now. I can’t remember the last time I smiled like this…you’re amazing.”

A full body blush rippled across her skin and Darcy felt her smile turn from that flirty grin to something softer and shier whether she liked it or not. She hadn’t planned to kiss him with his taste still on her tongue, but he kissed her then, open-mouthed and hungry, and she was definitely not going to turn that down. His tongue swirled around hers and a primal growl rumbled in his chest and rippled right down her spine to her core. Oh, wow, that was hot. Brain short-circuiting, she mumbled between kisses, “I don’t usually get that response. Fuck, dude.”

Bucky snorted, but didn’t stop kissing her, choosing to reply in brief snippets between kisses. His hands were wandering now too, curling around her thighs, her ass, her back. “You know I’m bi…it’s not like I was going to mind the taste of come, doll….And, _fuck_ …it does things to me…tasting myself in your mouth.”

 _Jesus._ Her legs tightened completely automatically around his thigh and she shuddered at that much-needed friction as she ground down on him. Even as she did it, her insides twisted at how she maybe should have held that back, but then Bucky’s hand on her ass was urging her on, grinding her core against him again. Her entire body shuddered in arousal and she kissed him back harder, right up until her brain just coded and she couldn’t manage to keep her mouth moving through this. Instead, Bucky sucked on her lower lip and _holy fuuuuck…._

When she came floating back to earth, Darcy sagged on his chest and buried her face in his neck. They were sweaty and warm and she felt drunk on afterglow and on the warmth that followed his fingers as he trailed them up and down her spine. Was this what Heaven felt like? “It’s official,” she mumbled, tongue not quite working right yet. “Top four orgasms of my life…all you. And we haven’t even banged. Wow.”

Bucky chuckled, low and self-satisfied enough to actually have her lizard brain perking up again. “Well…now I need to go for top five, top six, top seven…”

Her head snapped up at that and she caught him smirking at her like a sex god, blue-grey eyes stormy with love and lust. “Sign me up.” Bucky laughed and Darcy shook her head in amazement. How did she get this lucky? He really was stupid hot and insanely good at making her blush and come and just _wow_. “Seriously. I didn’t think it was possible to come on someone’s thigh like that. Or from second-base. You have _ruined me._ ”

Bucky laughed harder and she laughed with him because she couldn’t damn well help it, but also because the alternative was crying stupid happy tears. She never wanted anyone else. Ever. This felt like magic, like home, like exactly where she wanted to be for the rest of her freaking life. This. Curled up with Bucky, nothing between them but love and laughter and skin. 

It wouldn’t always be this good or this easy. She knew that. He wasn’t going to magically forget all of the shit he’d been through and neither was she. Even when he was well again, she was never going to forget the things hiding in a shadow in the back of his head somewhere. She was never going to forget and accidently leave a love bite on his skin, was never going to pin him down in the heat of things, was never going to let an unkind word fall from her tongue even in the name of teasing or in the midst of a fight. And having met Brock, she was pretty sure there were parts of this situation beyond what was in their heads that weren’t over. She had a feeling like acid in her gut that Mr. I-get-off-on-fucking-my-boyfriend’s-throat-until-he-cries wasn’t going to join a monastery in Peru and pledge himself to a life of penance.

So no, this would not always feel this natural or this blissfully happy, but she would take on all of Al Qaeda alone with nothing but her taser before she would give up on this. On _him._ She was in love with Bucky Barnes and she would take on Heaven and Hell to make him smile and laugh like this again.

She kissed him mid-laugh, silencing him and knocking the breath out of his lungs with the feeling and urgency in that kiss. And he kissed back just the same, arms tightening around her like he thought he could keep her close and safe that way. “I love you,” she said, lips moving against his even as she spoke.

“I love you,” he returned.

\-----------------

Brock was standing in his shower, still vibrating under his skin with rage even after smashing just about everything left in the apartment and swearing to himself as he let his expensive shampoo soak in. He was never going to feel clean again, he was pretty sure, not after that _waste of skin_ left him sitting in his own shit for seven hours.

He’d never been so humiliated in his life. He was going to have fucking scars on his cock and balls from that fucking taser. When he found that bitch, he was going to spend _days_ listening to her beg for death.

His scalp was quietly burning, but he ignored it. He was leaving the overpriced salon shampoo on way too long, but he still felt fucking filthy.

When he got his hands on Bucky again, that little shit was going to regret being _born._ He would make him crawl on his knees and _beg_ for forgiveness and Brock wasn’t going to give it to him, not until he was in pieces on his floor, bleeding and broken the way Brock had come to like him best.

His scalp was really burning now, enough that it was clearly well past time to wash the shampoo out. Brock shut his eyes and tried to breathe, standing under the spray and running his fingers through his hair, washing the shit away.

Except that the second time he ran his fingers through, his hair felt thinner. _Much_ thinner.

Brock’s eyes snapped open in sudden horror and he pulled his hands back, stared down at the thick gobs of wet hair between his fingers and the pink foam swirling down the drain alongside _more hair._

_WHAT THE FUCK._

Panicked, Brock scrubbed his hands through his hair, trying to wash out whatever the fuck was happening with his shampoo and swore and screamed as _more hair_ came out in his hands. He wasn’t even feeling it, though his scalp still burned. It was just _falling right out and leaving bare scalp behind._

Scrambling, he turned off the water and stumbled out of the shower, tearing the shower curtain off five or six rings as he fought his way to the fogged-up mirror. With a shaking, hair-covered hand, he swiped at the steam, and at the sight of his reflection, screamed, _“I’m going to KILL YOU, you FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT!”_

What remained of his hair was oozing off his head. Where it had been, where he’d spent _hundreds of dollars a month_ on product and salon visits, was now _completely fucking bald_ and _pale_ because it wasn’t like he used bronzer on his _fucking scalp._

Still screaming, he lashed out and put his fist through the mirror. He was going to make that shit Bucky _beg_ for death and _give it to him_ , him and that bitch with the taser and all his fucking friends. When he figured out which of them put _Nair_ in his shampoo, he’d make sure that person died screaming.

But first, he was going to figure out what to do about the cuts now oozing blood on his fist. Was he really going to the ER looking like this? It was either that or make Rollins stitch him up.

_Fuck…._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cackles to self* Darcy's brand of vengeance really is going to be the gift that keeps on giving....
> 
> Special thanks once again to Liebekatzke, the mastermind behind the Nair prank. I adore you.


	12. A Few Good Days

Darcy worked late on Tuesday, making up for all of the hours lost since finding him on being distracted at Stark Industries or not being there at all. Bucky was perfectly fine with that, enjoying a four hour nap around mid-day that was not interrupted by nightmares, polishing off Francesca’s pozole and washing her dishes, showering with his own toiletries and shaving with his own razor, and dressing in his favorite clothes that he’d dug through his stuff to find: a pair of well-worn darkwash skinny jeans, his Five Finger Death Punch t-shirt, a camouflage hoodie, and his boots. After the successful nap, he holstered his sidearm at his waist, collected the clean dishes, and walked over to 5C. Francesca was delighted to see him and invited him into her extremely colorful and cluttered apartment that she’d somehow jammed two very large, aggressively friendly Labradors into. She put a plate of hot-out-of-the-oven cookies in front of him and kept nudging it in his direction until he’d made five of them disappear in between petting and praising Sugar and Splenda. She talked his ear off the whole time, too, and when he left almost two hours later, he was smiling so hard his cheeks ached. Without a key, he’d had to leave Darcy’s door unlocked and listen the whole time for anyone in the hallway, but it was worth the hypervigilance.

When Darcy arrived at a quarter after eight, looking weary and bearing a takeout bag, he grabbed the bag, kissed her forehead, and told her to get comfortable. “Careful. A girl could get used to coming home to this,” she said with that teasing grin, blatantly checking him out as she retreated to the bedroom to rid herself of her work clothes.

They ate the takeout Chinese food on the couch, then Darcy presented him with a red and gold box. Opening it revealed a brand-new StarkPhone, though not any model he’d ever seen in an advertisement. It was already programmed and had his contacts, photos, and apps transferred onto it, including an app with a magnifying glass for the icon that Darcy showed him how to use. “Skye installed this and I have the exact same thing,” she explained. “We planted trackers all over Brock’s personal effects…phone, wallet, a couple pairs of shoes. They’re the blue dots on the map. He must be home because they’re all at his apartment right now, see? The yellow dot is my phone and the green one is yours. If any of Brock’s trackers comes within 900 feet of you or me, that’s one Manhattan block, his tracker turns red and the phone chimes an alert.”

“How hard is it going to be for him to find the trackers? If he found them, he could try to trick us and plant them somewhere.”

Darcy smirked. “It’s possible, but this is spyware designed by Tony Stark himself for personal use only. Hydra doesn’t have tech that can find these by scanning and they’re super small and totally transparent. The one in his phone is stickered to the inside of the battery space, the one in his wallet is stickered to the back of his driver’s license, and Jones put the ones in his shoes inside the soles. He’s not going to find them.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows, gaze glued to the blue dots stacked inside Brock’s apartment in Brooklyn. “That’s incredible.”

“Right? I’m going to crochet an afghan for Tony to thank him. We’ve also got bugs in the apartment and on his phone and malware on standby in his laptop, waiting to be turned on.”

Bucky turned wide eyes on Darcy, who was looking wickedly pleased with herself. “You are absolutely terrifying and I love it.”

Darcy winked at him. “Oh, it’s my pleasure. And it wasn’t all me, either. I led a Revenge Circle at SI yesterday morning with some of my genius buddies. They came up with most of this. Putting the trackers in his shoes was Sam’s idea. The malware was designed by Skye. And Jane and I have a few other things in the works to make his life hell.”

A part of him was thoroughly impressed, darkly satisfied, and a bit turned on by this. Another part, though, was _pinging_ with alarm bells, sending his stomach to twisting and lurching. Bucky locked the phone and set it on the coffee table, then looked to Darcy seriously. “Doll…you know this isn’t over, right?”

The humor drained out of Darcy’s expression, replaced by hardness and anger. “I know,” she said quietly. “After seeing the way he was with you yesterday, though, I don’t think it would have mattered how we handled this. I think you were right that just knowing you’re alive and kicking is going to have him on the move. I’m not going to lie and say it doesn’t scare me poking a bear like this, but he deserves every ounce of shit I can shovel in his direction and if this isn’t over, I’m going to use every advantage I can over him.”

Bucky’s jaw hardened and his throat closed up at the reminder of ‘the way he was.’ And she’d only seen about ninety seconds of interaction between him and Brock. At least she was being realistic with this. He took her hand in his and squeezed tight. “Just be careful. Please? He’s going to hunt every face he saw yesterday, there’s nothing we can do about that now, but it would kill me if he ever hurt you.”

Darcy squeezed his hand back. “We’re going to do everything we can to make sure that doesn’t happen. I promise. I’m not going to pull punches, though, and we can’t stop living because there’s a creep on the other side of the city planning his revenge. He doesn’t know who I am or who you’re staying with or anyone’s names. We have all the advantages here. We’re safe.”

_We’re safe._ Bucky breathed a shaky breath in and out, then took another that settled a little easier. He could almost believe the words when Darcy said them like that, sounding like an avenging angel. He wanted to believe them so fucking bad. “Okay, doll.”

Darcy smiled, her face softening. “I have one more thing for you,” she said softly. She snaked her free hand into her front jeans pocket and produced something small enough to fit in her fist. Frowning, confused and trying to figure out what more she could possibly give him, Bucky opened his hand and watched her drop the tiny object into his palm.

It was a key.

Bucky’s breath froze in his lungs and he met Darcy’s gaze with wide eyes. She was smiling softly at him, eyes warm and open, no hesitation. “Is this a key to your apartment?” he asked, stunned.

“Yep.”

“You told me you’ve never given a man a key to your place before.”

One corner of Darcy’s mouth curled upward a bit and her alabaster cheeks flushed with a subtle pink. “Until now. I trust you. I care about you and love you. And I want you to know that you’re safe here and can come and go as you please. Eventually I’m sure you’ll be on your feet and ready to have your own place again and you can keep this even then if you want. You’re always welcome here.”

For a moment, Bucky just stared at her, knocked breathless, and tried to talk himself out of crying. This amazing woman had given him something she had never given a man before, and she had just dropped it in his hand and smiled like she hadn’t had to think twice about it. “Darcy…thank you. I know this isn’t a small thing for you to give and…it means the world to me.”

Darcy squeezed his hand, which she still clasped, and leaned in to kiss him, just once on the lips, so gentle and sweet that it knocked the breath out of him just like it always seemed to. “I know,” she whispered. “That’s why I gave it to you.” She kissed him again, then said with a smile, “Now, you should probably text Sam so he gets off my back about getting your phone to you. And while you do that I’m going to clear some space for your stuff. Okay?”

“Darce…”

“Shh.” She kissed him once more, silencing his amazed protest. “Not optional. This is your home right now and it’s going to be for as long as you want it. I’m not letting you live out of trash bags.”

“Okay.” His chest felt fit to burst with warmth and pressure and he kissed Darcy back, putting all the gratitude that words wouldn’t be enough to express into that contact. When Darcy was leaning into him and breathless, he whispered against her lips. “I love you.”

He could feel her pleased smile against his lips and hear it in her voice. “I love you.”

They kept kissing for a little while, but Darcy eventually insisted on untangling herself and rearranging one of the closets to make a space for him. While she did that, Bucky opened his new phone, found that Darcy had already added Sam’s cell number into the contacts, and texted him. _Nice idea about the trackers in the shoes._

It only took a minute or two for Sam to respond. _Sam: Hell, yeah, man. I would have loved to be there myself, but it sounded like you had it covered. Darcy tells me you’ve got some pretty great guys in your corner. :)_

Bucky smiled, thinking of the Howlies. _I really do. You said I should make an appointment?_

_Sam: I hold one-on-ones at the VA in Harlem on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I also host groups on Mondays and Wednesdays and you’re welcome there, but I really think you need some one-on-one. I could come to you if you can’t get here, but I think it’d be better if we kept your therapy space and safe space separate if that makes sense._

_Bucky: It does and I can get to Harlem. I imagine you want to see me soon?_

_Sam: Got any plans at 10am Thursday?_

_Bucky: I’ll have to clear my busy schedule, lol, but I can manage._

_Sam: Glad you can laugh about it. Bring your VA papers and any VA prescriptions you have with you. Darcy hinted that whoever you saw elsewhere let you slip through the cracks and I want to follow up on that._

Bucky blinked. He’d been planning on finding someone at the VA to bitch at once he built up his confidence a bit, but it was a pleasant surprise that Sam was willing to advocate for him. _You’re not wrong. Thanks…I’ll bring what I’ve got._

_Sam: Were you on prescriptions that you need filled? I can schedule you a time with a nurse while you’re here._

_Bucky: I was on acetaminophen/codeine and Zoloft, but I don’t think they actually did anything good, so I probably won’t refill now that I’m off them anyway. I have the bottles…want to bitch out whoever approved Brock picking up meds for me._

It took a little longer for Sam to respond to that, which was enough to make Bucky nervous, but when he did the barely-restrained fury was clear in the message. _Sam: Your abuser should definitely not have had that authorization and it really pisses me off that he did. You and I will talk at 10 and then I have a few people in mind I’m going to have some very unpleasant conversations with. I’m sorry we failed you, but you’re in good hands now and we’re not going to fail you again._

Tears pricked at Bucky’s eyes and he dropped the phone to scrub at his face with his right hand. He was overdue for ibuprofen and he was not going to get his left hand that high without serious pain. _We’re not going to fail you again_. The words held so much power and the best part was that, coming from Sam Wilson, he actually believed them.

_Bucky: Thank you._

\----------------

Bucky slept in Darcy’s bed again that night with her very warm body curled up tight to his side and her mountains of blankets and plushies around them. His owl, which Darcy had taken the liberty of naming ‘Joey’ after Bucky’s favorite _Friends_ character, was on his other side and the single dim lamp was on, making it so easy to remember where he was when he woke from nightmares, not that it turned out to be that necessary.

There were fewer nightmares now.

He woke on Wednesday morning to Darcy’s alarm clock playing The Offspring and found an immense degree of pleasure in watching Darcy’s beautiful mostly-asleep face scrunch up in annoyance as she struggled to silence the alarm without opening her eyes. Bucky shook his head and reached across her to silence it himself, then laid over her to kiss her soft and slow. She was still mostly asleep, but he could feel her irritation evaporate as he kissed her and she quickly woke up, humming in pleasure and curling her hands loose and warm around his shoulders. “Mornin’, doll,” he murmured to her between kisses.

“Good morning, yourself.” She kissed him back, more awake and much more participatory now, her lips parting to lick at his mouth. He opened to her automatically, getting lost in the sleepy kiss and how soft and loose her body felt beneath him. When he swirled his tongue around hers, Darcy moaned and shifted beneath him, hooking one leg around his waist to pull his hips tight to hers. He was half-hard already and if her behavior and the sounds she made were any indicator, she was even further along.

When she ground her hips upward into him, Bucky groaned at that glorious friction and mumbled into the kiss, “Shouldn’t make you late.”

Darcy whined and he chuckled and kissed her pouty lower lip. “What if I wanna be late?”

“Hmm…I could make your coffee while you shower…save you five minutes…”

Darcy grinned. “I just woke up to my favorite guy kissing me and offering to make me coffee and you think five minutes is going to be enough? I’ll buy Jane donuts and she’ll get over it.” She kissed him again then, deeper and hungrier now, fully awake and aware. Bucky hadn’t planned to hold this position so long and automatically shifted more of his weight onto his right arm, mind focused on Darcy’s lovely mouth and her very warm body pressed against his. Darcy hesitated, then placed a hand very gently on his left bicep. “You shouldn’t be on top, should you?”

He sighed and leaned his forehead against hers, breathing her warmth. “Maybe not.”

Darcy made a _tsk_ sound in her throat and braced her hands on his upper chest, nudging him and helping him roll onto his back without putting pressure on his left arm. Once he was lying flat, the aching pain quieted a bit and Darcy laid over him, pressing a long kiss to his mouth and then whispering, “I would much rather you either move me somewhere more comfortable or stop altogether than hurt yourself, okay sweetie?”

Bucky kissed her back once, his chest aching and not because of the scar tissue. “Used to like being on top,” he confessed into her kiss.

Darcy tensed, but after a moment’s thought she kissed him again and responded in that teasing voice, “Keep up with those protein shakes and soon that’ll be a piece of cake. You’ll be doing one-armed push-ups with me on your back. And the scar cream and massages will help too. You’ll be tossing me around my bedroom in no time.”

“That’s a nice thought. Hope you’re right.”

“I usually am,” she said smugly. “For now, just pick your battles, right? If you feel okay, do it. If you don’t, let me do the work.”

He supposed she was right and resolved, at least for now, to accept the comforting thoughts. And to do his best to make her late and happy about it.

Darcy had cleaned out half of the hall closet and after she left for work, Bucky showered, dressed, and focused on unpacking his stuff into the space she’d given him. Everything fit just right except his rifle, which after some eyeballing around the apartment fit perfectly under the couch. There, the matte black case was invisible to anyone who wasn’t looking, but easy enough for Bucky to reach down and slide out. In the bathroom, he discovered that Darcy had left one drawer in the cupboard pulled open to show that it was completely empty and waiting, so he made his toiletries at home there, where they fit just right.

He hadn’t known what he expected to do with everything once he got his stuff back because he hadn’t really expected to get this far. He certainly hadn’t expected to fit into Darcy’s apartment like it was already home.

At noon, Francesca returned with a covered baking dish of chicken enchiladas. She ate with him this time and asked questions in amongst her own stories. The third time she name-dropped Darcy and he felt himself smile or blush, he narrowed his eyes at her and watched her smirk at him. “You’re trolling me,” he said, feigning offense. “You have a sixth sense for this! You know we’re a thing now and you’re totally trolling me.”

“You make a very attractive couple,” Francesca said with a teasing smile. “And I think you will make each other very happy.”

“She already makes me happy.”

Francesca waggled her eyebrows at that. “With the way you blush, I don’t doubt that.”

Bucky laid down his fork, torn between laughing and being mildly horrified. He ended up expelling a shocked laugh. “I think I expected you to pray for my soul.”

“Pssh,” Francesca scoffed, waving a hand at him dismissively. “You clearly don’t watch enough _telenovelas_.”

“Clearly. _Telenovelas_ are like soap operas, right?”

“Soap operas _con passi_ _ón_ , yes.”

Bucky grinned and returned to his enchiladas. “Well, thanks for the support.”

Francesca smirked and her dark eyes sparked. “Always. Just keep the volume down, _lobo_. These walls are thin.”

Bucky choked on a mouthful of chicken and Francesca cackled at him.

That afternoon, Bucky ventured outside Darcy’s apartment alone for the first time since arriving. He had his tags, his weapon, his wallet, his phone, and his key. He also had his winter jacket, which had been left at Brock’s. He went to the coffeeshop a block down and bought a tall coffee with his debit card, which Brock had apparently not drained while he was gone. On the way back, coffee in hand, he stopped at an ATM, checked the balance, and found that Brock hadn’t touched his bank account since the last time Bucky gave him his card to ‘help with expenses’ and he’d skimmed off a few hundred bucks. That had been four weeks ago and he’d gotten a pension check since then, thank fuck. He withdrew some cash and sipped his coffee on the walk back to Darcy’s, feeling both relieved and a little stronger for having conquered something, even if it just leaving the apartment alone.

On a whim, he asked his new phone where the nearest place he could buy flowers was and walked three blocks there. He unzipped his jacket and tucked the bouquet of red and purple roses inside it to protect them on the walk back to Darcy’s.

When Darcy got home from work that night at seven-thirty, she saw the bouquet in the one vase she owned in the center of the counter and dropped her keys on the floor, hands immediately going to her mouth. “Holy fuck.” Her eyes sought him out and they were wide. At the expression, Bucky’s stomach twisted and he hesitated, but a moment later, Darcy launched herself into his arms and began kissing every inch of him she could reach. “Oh my god, you’re so damn sweet. Did you order these? You are the sweetest thing.”

Bucky laughed and shrugged, trying not to make a big deal of it. “I went out. Got a coffee, made sure my debit card still works, bought you flowers…”

Darcy pulled back enough to look him in the eye. She was smiling like the sun and had tears in her eyes. “That’s amazing. You’re amazing. Oh my god, I love you.” And then she was kissing him again and a warm bubble expanded and filled his chest. In between kisses, she whispered to him, “That can’t have been easy. Thank you, sweetie.”

And when had been the last time he’d felt that proud of anything? It was such a small, normal thing, leaving the apartment to run errands, but it hadn’t been small to him and she got that. And he really loved that she got that and was willing to celebrate it with him.

“Hey. Want to help me make some dinner? Then we can snuggle on the couch and I can thank you properly for my roses.” She winked at him.

It was a really good day.

\-------------

It was a fucking terrible day. Brock had ended up shaving his head bald, bronzing it, and claiming to _every fucking person_ (because _everyone_ asked) that he’d done it on purpose. Just to try something different, he said. He’d spent hours in the last two days hunting for any trace of Bucky or his fucking friends in New York and found nothing so far, not even a whiff. He suspected that they were his old unit, but he didn’t recall Bucky ever mentioning a woman he worked with besides Romanoff and the bitch with the taser definitely didn’t fit Romanoff’s description. Maybe they weren’t his unit after all.

But they’d staked out the floor and referred to each other by callsigns like a military unit might.

Either way, he’d find them.

Just as soon as he figured out _why the FUCK_ his laptop kept generating pop-ups from porn sites he was positive he’d never visited. A new window was opening every five to ten seconds and loudly playing one of many extremely graphic pornos across his entire screen. At least he’d opened his laptop at home and not at work or a coffeeshop or something, but still. The glitch or virus or whatever had his ambitions of tracking down Bucky at an utter standstill and it was pissing him the fuck off.

_Fucking piece of shit…_

He’d have to bring it to tech support. He’d have to bring his stupid porn-infested laptop to fucking tech support and it would have to be Hydra’s tech support because he had work shit on there and taking it anywhere else for troubleshooting would get him fired. And everyone at Hydra was already laughing behind their hands (or sometimes right to his face) about his stupid bald head.

God fucking _damn it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Francesca calls Bucky "lobo", which is a term of endearment that translates directly as "wolf" and means something similar to the English phrase "sly dog."


	13. Alpine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, who's ready for adorable? Because adorableness is happening! <3
> 
> PS: A lot of you seem very worried about Brock. No spoilers, but I can promise that you don't need to worry for at least a few chapters and even then, this has a happy ending. For now, you can expect fluff and a few more glimpses of Brock's suddenly awful life as he deals with Darcy's particular brand of karma. ;)

The nightmares were back on Wednesday night, probably something to do with being anxious about his appointment with Sam on Thursday morning, and Bucky started the day feeling twitchy and overtired. He’d to some degree expected this snag and that was why he’d taken the time yesterday afternoon to venture outside and make sure he could handle that, as well as getting some cash in his wallet for a cab ride to Harlem because there was no way in hell he was walking that or enduring his hypervigilance driving him up the walls on a subway ride. It still rankled him, though, and he spent most of the morning oscillating between panicking and berating himself for panicking.

He’d planned to leave early enough to get to the VA in Harlem a full thirty minutes early, expecting trouble getting out the door and hailing a cab. He ended up making it to the VA five minutes late, walking in the door, and promptly choking when the receptionist asked who he was there to see. At his panicked silence, the woman just smiled gently and said, “You must be Sergeant Barnes. Sam is expecting you. Second floor, room 214.”

“Thanks.”

In the empty corridor of the second floor, he stopped and very nearly turned around and walked back out. It took about thirty seconds of standing there arguing with himself before he went to Sam’s door, which was hanging wide open, and slouched in. Sam sat on the other side of his desk, but stood and smiled broadly at him as if he wasn’t almost ten minutes late. “Hey, man. I’m glad you made it. Want a seat?”

“I’m sorry. I’m late…”

Sam waved both hands as if that were of the minutest importance. “I’m just glad you got here. That’s the hardest part. Come one, let’s sit. Want coffee? It’s cheap shit, but it’s hot.”

Bucky shook his head to decline and sat in one of the armchairs angled against the wall. Neither chair would put someone’s back to the door. Sam shut the door, grabbed his coffee and sat in the other armchair, not behind his desk. His posture was loose and relaxed, open, and he was dressed in a quarter-zip sweater and jeans. Bucky took a deep breath in and out and allowed some of the cells vibrating under his skin to settle.

“So how’s your morning going?” Sam asked, like they were friends in a coffeeshop. “Must be nice having your own clothes and shit again.”

“It is,” he agreed uneasily. “Yesterday was great. Darcy cleaned out part of a closet for me, which was sweet of her. She didn’t have to do that.”

“She’s a sweet girl.”

“Yeah.”

“So yesterday was good, today not so much it looks like. Are you nervous about being here? Being out of the apartment?”

Bucky shrugged stiffly. “Both. I expected that. Left the apartment yesterday to get coffee and cash for my cab ride just so I’d know I could, but it still didn’t go great today. Didn’t sleep well either, so that’s not helping.”

Sam shrugged. “Don’t beat yourself up over that. I’m going to tell you something that you’re going to hear all the time talking to me: recovery’s not linear. Some days are good, some days are bad. You’ll learn how to recognize them and adjust your expectations on the bad days and that’s totally fine.”

“I should be able to handle it better. I was fine before I got blown up and I’ve been back for a year now.”

Sam shook his head, looking a bit more serious, like these words mattered. “There’s no ‘should’ with recovery. Everybody weathers things differently and you can’t always control when the bad days happen. You can do your best to set yourself up for success, like you did going out yesterday. That was awesome, props to you for thinking to do that. Sometimes shit happens, though, and you can’t beat yourself up over it. You’ll just make it harder if you do that.”

“I just…I feel so…weak and pathetic and stupid.”

Sam rested his coffee cup on his knee. “Okay, I don’t know you that well yet, but I _know_ you’re none of those things. And I think if you were to unpack that and look at it logically, you’d know that too. You seem like a smart guy, rational, practical. Don’t tie yourself up in knots like that.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him. “A year ago, I was one of the most dangerous people in Afghanistan. Totally unflappable, too. My platoon joked that they weren’t sure I bled red until that blast. Now I can’t leave the apartment without wanting to peel my skin off. Before I ended up on the streets, it had been three months since I walked out Brock’s door for anything. I barely got off the fucking couch. That’s weak and pathetic.”

Sam shook his head again. “Dude, it’s not. When you were living there, you were dealing with all the bullshit from Afghanistan and your injury, which would be enough to cripple a lot of guys emotionally for years, and you were also dealing with that asshole talking down to you. I don’t know what went down with him aside from him throwing you out, but when you tell me you’re weak and pathetic, I hear someone else’s voice, not yours. It’s his, right? He said shit like that to you?”

Bucky nodded, not trusting his voice right then.

“Thought so. I mostly deal with PTSD here, but I’ve seen a bit of everything and emotional abuse is no joke, man. That’ll fuck you up just as bad as shooting people for a living, dead serious. Don’t sell yourself short when you weren’t even you. You were the guy he wanted you to be and there wasn’t much you could do about that with him in your head and you not even able to leave that space.”

“I could’ve left. I didn’t.”

Sam smiled sadly. “That’s the thing that really sucks about emotional abuse, though. By the time you realized something was wrong, he was already in your head, right? You were already believing some of that bullshit, maybe repeating it to yourself when he wasn’t around to say it. It’s hard to take on things like finding a new apartment, which totally healthy people find scary, when you’ve got that crap in your head telling you you can’t handle it.”

Bucky bit his lip, trying to make Sam’s words stick in his head. He really wanted to believe them and they made sense logically. As Sam said, Bucky was a practical person when he was feeling like himself and a lot of the shit in his head was just that: shit. And in his right mind, he probably wouldn’t buy anything Brock had said to him. “That makes sense. I want to believe you.”

“You have to figure that out for yourself. Me telling you something doesn’t make it true in your head. But you’ll get there.”

“I hope so.”

“You will, man. You’re tough as hell. I can see that. Darcy can see that, she’s told me that. And not many people in your position would have been able to go back there and face their abuser like that, especially so soon.”

Bucky shrugged. “I had twelve people backing me up when I did that.”

“Yeah, but to get that you had to reach out to them. Had to tell them what was going on. That step alone would have tripped most people up. And you went there yourself, faced him, spoke to him. Don’t discount that, that’s tough as _shit,_ man.”

Something inside Bucky’s chest that had been quivering in a corner warmed and expanded. “Thanks.”

Sam smiled, easy-going again. “Nah, man, that’s all you. I’m just reminding you of how much of a badass you are, I didn’t make you that way. We can talk about this more if you want, but I gotta ask…you were one of the most dangerous people in Afghanistan? That’s big talk, man.”

“I was a sniper,” Bucky answered. His skin crawled a bit, but talking about having been someone he liked being once didn’t feel like bragging. He wasn’t fishing for compliments or anything, just telling a story about someone who he used to be. “Best in the US military at the time. There were a few guys on the other side who were as good or close, but they were hired and brought in by Al Qaeda or the Taliban, they couldn’t train them that good there.”

Sam rose his eyebrows. “Hang on. Are you Winter Soldier? Holy shit, I’ve heard of you, man. Do you realize how badass that is that you were good enough that a pararescue guy serving in Iraq heard of you?”

One corner of Bucky’s mouth turned up a bit and he shrugged. “Wasn’t all me, my spotter was a math genius.”

“Still, man. Weren’t those other guys you’re talking about hired to hunt _you_?”

“Yeah. Yeah, they were.”

Sam shook his head, looking a bit awed. “Dude, that’s so badass. You must know how many guys you saved doing what you did, right? Hundreds. Thousands, probably. Guys that would have done what they did either way but would’ve died without you looking out for them? And the people you saved because there were less HVTs in the area terrorizing them. Dude. Seriously. You’re a rockstar.”

Bucky snorted, thinking that might be going a bit far, but his smile didn’t fade. “I found out what I was good at and kept doing it. Just wanted to keep guys safe, like you said. Wouldn’t have made it that far without my spotter, especially once they started hunting me. He watched my six and saved my ass…maybe three, four dozen times. He carried me a mile to extraction after I got blown up. Not a big guy, either, just really fucking loyal.”

Sam grinned. “Sounds like a cool dude. Was he with you on Monday?”

“He was. He was in the bell tower across the street.”

Sam laughed at that. “Of course he was. You’re a lucky dude to have that many great people in your corner.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“So. Is there anything you want to talk about today? We can talk about the anxiety. We can talk about the ex-douchebag. Hell, we can talk about your favorite tv show for all I care, whatever feels good to you.”

“Maybe…the anxiety.”

Sam smiled. “You got it.”

\------------

Talking to Sam actually did help, which surprised Bucky. He’d expected to leave feeling worse for having dug things up, but Sam didn’t push, just helped Bucky work through whatever was on his mind. He was encouraging and rational, insisting that Bucky backtrack and think through some of the anxiety-spirals he sometimes got into and question whether they actually made logical sense. They didn’t and that made them much easier to toss out of his head. Sam advised that he keep on the lookout for what he called ‘negative self-talk’ and, when he recognized it happening, to take a minute and question what he was thinking and determine whether it was actually logical or not. It was good advice that Bucky hoped he’d have the presence of mind to use.

Sam also took copies of his VA paperwork and prescription information, grumbling angrily to himself as he made notes. “I am going to rip this guy a new asshole, I’m telling you, man….” He promised to keep Bucky updated on his communications with Walter Reed and the other VA people Bucky had seen in New York, insisting that the way his case had been handled was unacceptable and if it was happening to other vets too who were seeing the same caregivers, Sam was going to either force them to do better or get them canned. “They give the rest of us a bad name, man. I ain’t standing for that shit. They can kick rocks for all I care and someone who will actually serve our vets can do their job instead.”

Bucky was feeling well enough after the appointment to consider taking the subway back to Hell’s Kitchen, but remembered Sam’s words not to push himself and took a cab instead. He got out three blocks short of Darcy’s place, though, and walked the rest of the way because it just felt good to do.

Two blocks from Darcy’s, not far from where she’d found Bucky a week ago, he passed an alley and heard a scuffling noise that made him pause. Frozen on the sidewalk a few steps past the alley, his blood pressure leapt into overdrive and he weighed his options. He had his weapon. He could check it out. It might be someone like him in need of help. It might be Brock snooping around, in which case in his current mood he was going to shoot the bastard. It might be nothing and then he’d feel accomplished for having faced the unknown.

He still considered walking on with haste.

He turned around.

At the mouth of the alley, Bucky laid a hand on his weapon, ready to draw if need be. He couldn’t hear anything now, but that had definitely been a sound of life before and there were two dumpsters and several piles of discarded trash that someone could hide behind. “Hello?” he called. “Anyone here? Anyone need help?”

Silence. Then, after nearly ten seconds of vibrating under his skin, Bucky heard something that was distinctly a whimper.

It was totally _not_ Brock’s MO to fake an injury. He’d come out swinging. And if it wasn’t Brock, Bucky could handle whoever had made such a sad sound.

He proceeded slowly, head on a swivel, eyes scanning. When he approached the second dumpster, a scuffling noise happened again and he stilled, waiting. No one emerged, though, and he kept on, peering around the dumpster. When he saw the source of the sound, he stopped dead.

It was a dog. Probably white somewhere under the blood and grime, definitely a pitbull with that block-shaped head and barrel-chest. Half-starved, it looked like, and with the saddest fucking eyes Bucky had ever seen in his life and he’d watched men missing limbs cry for their mothers more times than he cared to count.

Instantly, Bucky dropped both hands loose to his sides and crouched down where he stood, lowering himself closer to the dog’s eye level. Under the matted blood and fur appeared to be open wounds oozing infection, lots of them. Bite wounds from other dogs, from the looks of things, but he’d have to get a lot closer to be sure. “Hey, buddy,” he said softly, heart aching at the pitiful sight. “You don’t look so good. You need a friend?”

The dog tilted his head slightly at Bucky’s voice, but it still looked terrified, eyes wide and sad, ears back. It looked like it expected him to kick it and once he had that thought, he couldn’t shake it. This dog had way too many injuries and too much fear of humans for this to be an accident. In fact, Bucky had a nasty suspicion that the poor thing was a former fight dog, either escaped or cast aside like him, considered too much trouble for his abuser to keep.

Yeah, there were tears in his eyes and he didn’t care what he had to do at this point, he was _not_ leaving this dog’s side until it was patched up and a lot less sad. Suddenly, he knew exactly what Darcy had been thinking and feeling the night she saved him. He crouched a little lower and slowly extended an open hand towards the dog. Deliberately, he chose his left, thinking that it wouldn’t be the worst thing if the dog got nervous and tore into a hand that was already mostly-useless to him. The dog eyed him warily, but leaned forward from where it was curled awkwardly into a trash pile to sniff at his hand. It stretched as far as it could reach, but did not get up.

“Want me to move closer?” Bucky asked gently. “I know I don’t like to move much when I’m hurting.” The dog didn’t look quite as fearful now, so he very slowly shuffled a step closer, still crouched and reaching out. The dog eyed him, but didn’t pull back and sniffed a little more interestedly in his direction, eyes on his hand. One more step and the dog’s ice-cold nose bumped his fingers. The dog seemed to disregard some of the fear, then, easing back into the scrunched-up ball it was in and whimpering pitifully.

“I know, buddy, that hurts, doesn’t it? If you’re not afraid of me, maybe I can take a look, huh?” The dog gave him sad eyes one step short of actual doggy tears and Bucky shuffled closer, very softly laying a head on the top of the dog’s head, stroking the small area there that was obviously uninjured. The dog whined and leaned towards him, so he moved right into its space and laid another hand on an uninjured part of its back, soothing it as he eyeballed the injuries. Most of them were clearly inflicted by other dogs, biting, scratching or tearing. There were open sores around the dog’s neck where it had obviously once tugged at a collar until it bled. Probably a choke-chain from the ragged look of the wounds. “Oh, buddy, I’m sorry. That really sucks. You going to let me bring you to a vet? Someone needs to take care of you.” The dog whined and rubbed its head into his hand and something in his chest fucking melted. “Yeah, we’re going to a vet. Hang on a sec.”

One hand still on the dog’s head, Bucky used the other to dig his phone out of his pocket and look up the nearest veterinary clinic. It was six blocks away, not an easy walk, but he wasn’t sure he could get a cab with a large injured dog in his arms. He could start walking and take a cab if he got one to stop on his way. He called the veterinary clinic and listened to the phone ring for longer than he was happy with, but finally someone picked up. “Hi, I don’t have an account or anything, but I just found an injured dog. Is there someone there who can patch him up if I bring him in? He’s hurt pretty bad.”

“Yes, of course. What’s wrong with him?”

“It looks like he was attacked by another dog. The wounds are kind of old, too, probably infected. He’s kind of out of it, didn’t even get up when I approached.”

“I’ll let the doctor know to expect you. Just so you know, we do require payment at the time of service unless it ends up being an unexpectedly high bill. We can do a payment plan for that. But I will need you to agree to pay for services before we can treat him.”

“Yeah, absolutely. If I don’t have it all today, bill me, but he needs help.”

“Okay. We’ll see you soon!”

“Thanks.” He hung up, shaking his head at the receptionist who’d doubted he’d pay the bill and the lousy humans out there who would either not bring the dog to the vet or would stiff the vet on the bill. Darcy was right, people sucked. He jammed the phone back in his pocket and stroked the dog’s back again. “Okay, buddy. We’re going to get you some help. You gonna let me carry you?” The dog whined, big black eyes molten and fixed on his face. He sighed. “Well, we’re going to try it. If you change your mind, do me a favor and bite my left arm, kay? That one’s already fucked up.”

He needn’t have worried, though. The dog whined and whimpered in pain at being bundled into his arms and lifted, but it didn’t so much as look at him sideways, choosing to ooze limply in his arms. When they got out of the alley and the cold January wind found them, the dog whined again and buried its face in his shoulder. “I know, bud. I’ll try and get us a cab.” He began walking towards the veterinary clinic, shifting the dog in his arms to free his left hand and wave at every yellow cab going past just in case. The dog was lighter than he expected, all skin and bones, and curled itself into a bizarrely tiny ball in his arms, so the movement was feasible. 

To his surprise, he’d only gone one block when a cab pulled to the curb beside him. The cabbie rolled down his window, obviously eyeing the dog in concern. “Hey man, is your dog hurt?”

“Yeah, I’m trying to get him to the veterinary clinic five blocks up.”

“Poor guy. I’ll take you there, no charge. Hop in.”

“Thanks, man.”

The cabbie helped him into the backseat of the cab with the dog and took them right to the front door of the clinic no charge, as promised. Maybe not all people sucked.

Bucky handed the dog off to a trio of vet techs who’d been expecting them and felt something inside his chest tearing as they walked away with the dog. The poor thing looked over one girl’s shoulder, miserable eyes locked on Bucky right up until they carried him into the treatment area. He signed everything the receptionist pushed at him without hesitating. He only had a couple hundred bucks to his name right then, but his pension checks were still coming and he’d meant it when he said over the phone that if what he had today wasn’t enough he’d find a way and pay for this. That sweet dog deserved good care.

He ended up grabbing a seat in the waiting area where he could easily see the treatment area door, the reception desk, and the main entry. As he waited, hoping like hell that the dog would be okay, it occurred to him that he had no fucking clue what he was going to do with this dog if it was okay. He wasn’t taking it to a shelter. He knew what the odds were for a pitbull and an obvious former fight dog in a shelter. That meant he was either taking it home or convincing someone he knew and trusted to take it. He’d prefer to keep it himself. The dog seemed attached to him and he was to it. Honestly, he couldn’t stop seeing the poor thing’s big black eyes staring at him in his head. What would Darcy say? It was her apartment after all. Darcy was so damn sweet, she’d probably insist on keeping the dog, but he didn’t want to get her in trouble if the building didn’t allow dogs.

Bucky sighed, realizing that Sam would tell him to handle this rationally. Rather than spinning an anxiety web over this, he could just text Darcy and ask her. He pulled out his phone. _Hey, doll. Hypothetical question: does your apartment allow dogs?_

The response came within only about thirty seconds. _Darcy: I really hope this isn’t hypothetical because I’VE ALWAYS WANTED A DOG BUT I’M NOT HOME ENOUGH TO TAKE CARE OF ONE. If it’s smaller than Splenda, it’s absolutely allowed and anyone who says different can fight me._

Bucky smiled at that. _It’s not hypothetical and definitely smaller than Splenda._

_Darcy: YAAAYYYYY!!! I can’t wait!_

_Darcy: Hang on. Why are you adopting a dog? Was this Sam’s idea? If it was, I need to crochet him an afghan._

That got him to snort and he shook his head. _Found him one block over from where you found me. He’s about as pathetic as I was, too. I decided to get out of my cab a few blocks north and walk the rest and I’m glad I did, otherwise I never would have found him._

_Darcy: OH MY GOD MY HEART JUST FUCKING MELTED. Is he hurt? Where are you? Home?_

_Bucky: Brought him to the vet. He’s hurt, but awake. Fingers crossed he’s okay._

_Darcy: Poor baby. Call as soon as you get home with him? I’m not sure how late I’ll be, but I’ll try and get done asap and pick up some stuff for him. Did he have a collar or anything?”_

_Bucky: He didn’t have anything and I’m not putting a collar on him…those injuries were not an accident._

_Darcy: Aww…I am legitimately crying now. Poor baby. Well, he’s going to be spoiled rotten with us. I’ll get him a sweater or something so he can be cozy and obviously belong to someone without wearing a collar. How big is he?_

_Bucky: You’re so freaking sweet. I adore you. He’s a pit, not tall or heavy, but for dog-clothes purposes, he’s got a big barrel-chest the size of Splenda._

_Darcy: I LOVE pits. And it’s a he? I definitely shouldn’t buy him pink?_

Bucky rolled his eyes, but couldn’t resist smiling. _You’re so cute. Honestly, I guess I don’t know that for positive. He was all curled up and I didn’t take the time to check, just wanted to get him help._

_Darcy: I’ll find something gender-neutral just in case. Wouldn’t want Sugar and Splenda teasing him. ;)_

_Bucky: You’re the best. Go back to work, I’ll keep you updated._

_Darcy: Roger that. <3_

He was smiling down at his phone like a complete idiot, he knew, but he just didn’t care. Instead, he responded with a heart of his own and settled in to wait for his dog.

It ended up being three hours before a vet tech emerged from the treatment area and locked eyes with him. He immediately stood and she approached, smiling. That was a good sign. “Is he okay?”

“He’ll be fine,” the tech said, still smiling. “We were concerned about his front left leg at first, it was pretty badly beat up, but we did x-rays and nothing’s broken or otherwise injured inside. We patched up the wounds and gave him some painkillers and antibiotics. We’ll send those home with you so you can keep giving them.” She offered him two pages of print-outs about the medications. “Directions for the meds are here if you forget, but for the painkillers, you’re going to give him one tablet twice a day with food for a week. For the antibiotics, you’re going to fill the syringe to the line I marked on the side and give it orally twice daily for two weeks. If he has any side effects, vomiting, diarrhea, lethargy, call us right away and we’ll go from there. He’ll be a little sleepy and sore, that’s normal, but he should be alert enough to get up for food and to go outside. He's already had enough of both medications for today, just start them tomorrow morning.”

“Does he have stitches?”

“Yep. I’ll show you where when we bring him out, but they’re going to dissolve and fall out on their own a few days after the wounds heal shut, no need to bring him back or anything. Don’t let him lick or chew at the wounds, though. They’re going to be itchy and uncomfortable as they heal and he’s going to want to. Normally, we’d put a medical collar on him, a cone, but with the injuries to his neck…”

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Bucky agreed, not needing further details there. “Can I just cover them with clothes or bandages?”

“As long as you check on them regularly and make sure they’re healing okay and not getting infected under the bandages. If you have any problems or questions, just call us. We’re happy to help. Our hours are on that print-out, or after hours our answering service will patch you through to the doctor on call.”

Bucky breathed a sigh of relief, nodding. This was going to be fine. The dog would be okay. “Great. Thank you. Will he be out soon?”

“Any minute. If you want, you can settle things with the receptionist and then when he comes out you can head straight out with him.”

“Thank you so much.”

As the vet tech disappeared to the treatment area again, Bucky folded up the print-outs and jammed them in his back pocket, then returned to the reception desk. The receptionist was clicking things and frowning, looking concerned. Finally, she said, “Okay…so we did trauma care on thirteen wounds, sedation, IV medication, two x-rays, and we’re going home with the two prescriptions. Total with tax is going to be $706.32.”

Bucky’s stomach dropped into the floor and he stared at her for a moment, eyes glazing. Fine. The dog deserved it. He exhaled and shut down his brain, reaching for his wallet. “Okay. I’ve got access to five-hundred now. You said there was a payment plan option?”

Just then, the main door swung open behind him and a maelstrom of very excited yellow lab came skidding in, dragging his owner by a leash. The dog leapt up at Bucky instantly, and it took everything in him not to pull his weapon on the dumb thing. Thank fuck he didn’t because the dog just wanted to get its paws on his shoulders and his tongue on his face.

“Jesus, Lucky! Down! Lucky, _down!”_

Lucky hopped down to the floor and proceeded to skitter around on the slick tile, tail wagging so hard his whole rear end moved with it. He was missing an eye and half an ear, but that didn’t seem to get him down one bit. His owner, a broad-shouldered blond guy in a leather jacket, got a hand on his harness and wrangled him to the other end of the reception desk. “Yeah, no more coffee for you,” he muttered to the dog. “Sorry, man. Hope he didn’t startle you too bad. I swear he’s a good dog, just really loves the vet.”

“I’m alright. No harm.”

The owner looked up and locked eyes with Bucky, stilling instantly. He had a Band-Aid at the corner of one eyebrow and Bucky actually watched the humor drain out of those eyes and turn them to steel. Swallowing hard, choking on the sudden anxiety, Bucky looked back to the receptionist. “Anyway. You said there was a payment plan option? I have five hundred now and I can do the rest next month.”

“Is that with his military discount?” 

Bucky blinked and looked up at Lucky’s owner, thoroughly unnerved. The receptionist looked between them in confusion. Lucky’s owner gave Bucky a crooked half-smile and shrugged. “He’s not going to ask for it, but I know that look. Give him the military discount, Janet.”

Bucky stared at the other man, stunned speechless. Janet, meanwhile, was apparently taking the guy's word and running numbers through her calculator. “Okay. Our military discount is 30% off on all services, so your total is actually going to be $494.42. We can still do the payment plan if that helps.”

Bucky considered arguing it and paying the full amount, but Lucky’s owner was staring right at him, ready to argue it back, and he didn't physically have it all without the discount. He sighed in defeat and pulled out his wallet. “All today. Assuming you can do some cash, some on a card?”

“That’s fine.”

He handed the cash and his debit card over and Janet began processing it. While she waited for his debit card to authorize, she smiled gently at him. “Thank you for your service, by the way. I’m glad Clint said something.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, just punched in his PIN and took his card back when she offered it. Thankfully, he didn’t have to deal with Janet or Clint anymore because just in time, the treatment room doors opened and the vet tech was walking a very wobbly white pitbull out to him. All the humans in the room melted away and Bucky crouched down to put himself at the dog’s eye-level. It had seemed thoroughly done with everything and not pleased to be upright, but when it saw him, those big eyes went molten and its face stretched into a lopsided doggy grin. Immediately, the dog came directly to him and buried its blockhead in his chest. Bucky grinned and began petting spots that were obviously uninjured. There were a _lot_ of injured spots. “Hey, bud. You look much better. And you are all white. I wasn't sure before.”

“He’s a very handsome boy when he’s clean,” the tech said with a smile. She crouched down next to him and began pointing out the injuries, not that they were hard to spot now that the dog had been washed clean of blood and grime. Plus, they’d shaved the spots that had been open wounds and the dog’s skin was a frankly adorable pink under the white fur. “We shaved around them to help them heal clean. You can see the stitches here. They’ll dissolve or fall out on their own when he’s healed up. The sites will be tender and pink for a few days, but if you notice any redness or oozing, call us right away. Here are his medications.” She offered him a small plastic bag that he took. “For your records, he’s fully grown, but other than that we can’t be sure about his age. No grey or signs of arthritis, so somewhere between eighteen months and four years, we're guessing. He’s definitely not neutered, which shouldn’t be a problem. Most people do it for behavioral reasons or if he’s going to be spending time with unspayed females and they want to avoid puppies. If it’s something you’d like to discuss, let us know.”

The dog had his head on Bucky’s thigh and was currently oozing in his arms. “I’m thinking this guy isn’t going to have much for behavioral problems and he won't be meeting many eligible ladies. Thanks, though.”

The tech grinned. “Sure. Does he have a name we can put on his file?”

Bucky looked down at the all-white pitbull and thought about it. He really should have been working that question over while he was waiting around doing nothing. The main door opened and let in a blast of frigid air that faded as soon as it shut again, but the dog curled up tighter against Bucky’s body anyway. He wrapped an arm around the dog and it instantly mellowed out again. Smiling softly, he answered, “Alpine. His name is Alpine.”


	14. Welcome Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for welcoming Alpine!!! He says he's very happy to be in this fic and is enjoying all the snuggles. If you have ideas for ways to spoil Alpine, please share! He's a good boi and needs all the love. :) <3

Darcy had been under the impression that she’d already experienced the cutest thing she would ever see in her life and had managed to immortalize it with a picture of Bucky sleeping with Joey the owl. She was _SO_ wrong. That moment hadn’t even been in the same _league_ as Bucky curled up on her couch with a very sleepy patched-up puddle of pitbull on his lap.

Darcy set down her bags from the pet store and her purse carefully, then approached the couch with tears in her eyes and a grin stretching clear across her face. “Oh my _god_ , he is the _sweetest_.”

Bucky grinned and when he looked at her, the dog, Alpine, picked up his big head to look at Darcy as well with massive molten-black eyes. Holy hell, Darcy had been convinced that she didn’t have a maternal bone in her body, but _this dog_ was definitely her baby now. She crept forward slowly and reached out one hand over the back of the couch. Alpine sniffed at her, then gave her fingers a tentative lick and promptly dropped his head onto Bucky’s nearby shoulder for more snoozing. Darcy had to bite her lip to keep from literally squealing out loud and slipped around the couch to sit next to Bucky and very softly pet Alpine’s massive blockhead. “He is such a _baby_ ,” she whisper-squealed.

Bucky chuckled, still grinning and now looking at Alpine’s head on his shoulder with utter devotion in his eyes. “He totally is. I thought he’d be nervous, but he must have decided he likes me.”

“ _Likes_ you?” Darcy asked incredulously, eyes popping. “Are we talking about the same dog? He’s decided you’re his _daddy_ , Bucky. _Look at him!_ ”

Bucky chuckled again, blushing crimson. “Yeah, you’re kind of right. The drugs are making him extra-mushy, but he did not have to sleep on me like this. I put him on the couch next to me thinking he should be comfortable and he crawled right into my lap. It is okay that he’s on your furniture, right? I didn’t have a bed for him or anything.”

“ _Okay_? Are you _kidding_? I paid forty dollars for this couch when I got my first apartment and his presence makes it a thousand times cozier. It’s very okay.”

“Yeah, after you threw my disgusting ass in your tub and then snuggled me for five hours on this couch the next day, I kind of figured it was fair game,” Bucky said with a wink.

Darcy grinned. “So you’re saying I’m a soft touch? You’re not wrong.”

He shrugged the shoulder Alpine was not currently snoring on. It was hard to tell how heavy Alpine actually was when he was all curled up like that and she wondered if that weight on Bucky’s left side was really a good idea. She’d grab the ibuprofen next time she got up just in case and massage it later. “Yeah, but I kind of love that about you. And it kind of saved my life.”

Darcy looked back to Alpine, tearing up again at the sight of all those stitched-up wounds. Bucky had warned her that Alpine had probably been abused and in a recent dogfight, but _the poor baby_. “Is this you paying it forward?”

“A little. Mostly, I’m a soft touch too,” he admitted, looking at Alpine like he’d hung the moon.

“Is there a vet bill coming? I can pay it.”

Bucky shook his head. “I told you my debit card still works, right? There was enough in there since my last pension check.”

Darcy frowned. Of course, Bucky would be getting a military pension. He’d served for plenty of years in a rather valuable role and had been discharged honorably. She’d just never realized before because she’d assumed that for him to put up with Brock, he must have been penniless. Actually, what had happened to his army salary from all those years in Afghanistan? He couldn’t have possibly spent it all when he’d been overseas for three-fourths of all those years in a row. Bucky must have noticed her confusion and deduced the cause because he bit his lip and looked away, suddenly stiff and uncomfortable. “Yeah, I know. When I got back, I had enough cash stored up to buy a house somewhere quiet and watch my pension checks roll in…that was my retirement plan.”

“What happened?” She caught herself immediately, though, and amended, “I’m sorry, you totally don’t have to tell me that. It’s not my business.”

Bucky shrugged. “Not all of my medical care was covered, some was out-of-pocket. ‘Cosmetic,’ they called it, if you can believe that. But…well, I told you I said shit to my family. I haven’t talked to them since, any of them, but I felt horrible. I had done my time before that last tour and they wanted me to come home for good, but I was really good at my job and not much good at anything else. So, I signed a new contract for a raise and a bonus, even though my mom cried her fucking eyes out. After how things went down…after I got blown up and then lashed out at the people who cared most…I didn’t want that money anymore. It felt dirty.”

Something in Darcy’s chest tore open. She took Bucky’s right hand in hers and squeezed gently. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t look at her either. “What did you do?”

Bucky sighed wearily and turned his gaze to Alpine. Eyes on his dog, scarred left hand stroking Alpine’s ribs, he answered, “I called Becca’s school and my parents’ mortgage holder. Told them I wanted to make an anonymous payment towards both. Turns out my dirty money was just enough to pay for three years of tuition and what was left of the mortgage. I never said anything, just walked away. They must’ve figured it out when the bills stopped coming because they tried to get ahold of me a few months later, but I didn’t answer. Eventually they stopped calling. Becca tried to get someone through the VA to have me call her back, but I didn’t do that either and they never met Brock, didn’t know his full name, so they weren’t going to find me there. I just…became a ghost.”

Tears gathered in Darcy’s eyes and began to spill. God, this poor guy…she kept thinking his story couldn’t possibly get any sadder and then he told her more things and she found herself bawling her eyes out all over again. Carefully, Darcy stood and moved around Bucky’s knees to sit on his right side, opposite Alpine, and curl up against him with her head on his shoulder. She pressed a kiss to his collarbone and whispered, “You’re not a ghost anymore. Clean slate, remember? You’ll figure all that out and if you decide you’re ready someday, you can call them then.”

“Maybe.”

She wasn’t sure what else to say. She knew he didn’t want to talk about this, though, didn’t want it in his head, so it was probably a good time to flirt or joke or something. Before she could pull something out of her ass, Alpine began to snore loudly. Her eyes popped wide and she picked her head up to stare at Alpine, then meet Bucky’s eyes, which were also wide. Instantly, laughter bubbled up in her chest and she had to bite down on her fist to keep from cackling out loud and waking the slumbering dog. “Oh my god,” she gasped between chuckles. “You adopted a furry chainsaw.”

“What have I done?” Bucky said, deadpan. His blue-grey eyes were molten and he was smirking, though, so in love with his dog it was ridiculous. She’d thought she loved Bucky before, but now that she got to see the way he worshipped this dog, well, she was really tempted to snuggle him for eternity, go down on him, or both at the same time.

Darcy eventually threw together some pasta for dinner while Bucky continued to act as Alpine’s mattress. The smell of food roused the dog, though, and he watched the bowls of food with the saddest damn eyes Darcy had ever seen and she’d seen Bucky cry. When Bucky started trying to convince her that dogs can totally eat spaghetti, Darcy retrieved her pet store purchases and began unpacking them, starting with the dishes and food. The dishes were adorable and had _FOOD_ and _WATER_ printed on them in messy handwriting. She washed those and set them up in the kitchen. When she cut open the dog food bag, Alpine lumbered over and she got to see how big he actually was. She blinked. “You weren’t kidding about the barrel-chest. He’s definitely shorter and skinnier than Splenda, but holy buckets. You hungry, Alpine? Check this out.” Alpine shuffled closer, sniffing in the direction of the food with keen interest. Darcy grinned and scooped two cups into the bowl. “Does that smell good? Smells like…sweet potato? And…venison?”

“Holy cow, Alpine, that sounds awesome,” Bucky said, grinning and rolling his eyes.

Darcy just grinned back. “Well, I wanted to pick something that he would definitely like and that would be good on his tummy if he wasn’t feeling so hot. The pet store people said this was a good choice and the reviews online backed them up.” Alpine took a few steps closer, sniffing so hard his black nose was visibly wiggling, eyes darting between Darcy and the bowl. She closed up the bag and made a show of backing away from the bowl. “Go on, bud. It’s all yours.”

Alpine still eyed her warily, but proceeded. Darcy’s heart ached thinking that he was worried she might take the food away. Bucky had warned her and now she could see the stitched-up and bandaged wounds ringing Alpine’s thick neck where a collar had scarred him, but still. She had really hoped that this sweet dog’s story wasn’t that sad. Alpine snatched up a kibble, though, and, upon eating it, promptly forgot Darcy existed in favor of devouring the food. Warmth glowed in her chest and she gave Bucky a meaningful look. He just smirked at her from the couch, blue eyes liquid, and said, “Soft touch.”

“Hey, I wasn’t about to feed him my spaghetti, mister. That was you.”

When Alpine finished his dinner, they donned coats and coaxed Alpine out of the apartment, into the elevator, and down to the postage stamp of grass in front of the apartment building where Darcy had seen Francesca direct Sugar and Splenda. Alpine was wary and obviously shivering being outside, but did his business with little nudging or complaining and promptly walked himself right back to the door, demanding a return to the warmth. Back upstairs, Darcy presented Bucky with the doggy-shaped wardrobe she’d selected as options and he smiled indulgently, rolling his eyes at the goofy t-shirt and legit blushing at the U.S. Army hoodie. “You’re a riot,” he said. Ultimately, Darcy decided to give the Army hoodie a shot first since the sleeves would cover the stitches on Alpine’s front left leg. Alpine was wary, but very sleepy after his dinner and adventure outside, so only complained in the form of sad eyes. Bucky helped her carefully pour him into the hoodie and, once it was on him, Alpine brightened considerably, nuzzling against Darcy as if to thank her for the extra fur coat. Next, he got a plush dragon that he accepted with reverence and then refused to either shred like a normal dog would or set down. Finally came the bed that the clerk had somehow folded-slash-squashed into a bag, very plush and floofy with squishy sides to cuddle against. Darcy eyed her tiny apartment for a landing spot for it, but ended up frowning and turning again, hoping a place would magically appear. “Shit. This bed is definitely too big. I don’t mind him on the furniture, but I thought he should have his safe space, you know? Normally, you’re supposed to give a dog a crate and make that his safe space, but I am _absolutely not_ putting my baby in a crate, so I thought a bed…?”

Bucky smiled and his eyes, which had been locked on Alpine sitting literally on his foot and still proudly holding his dragon, moved to Darcy. “The bed is a great idea, doll. Maybe somewhere he can easily keep an eye on things? We can try a few spots if we’re tripping over it, but he seems to need to watch us.”

Darcy looked down and found Alpine’s liquid black eyes locked on her. Wow. Bucky was definitely not wrong there. “Good point. Maybe by the end of the couch for now? He can see our feet from there and keep an eye on the kitchen and the hallway.”

Bucky agreed and they laid the bed out by the end of the couch. Bucky carefully lowered himself to sit on the floor next to the bed, a task Darcy watched with a raised eyebrow. Ibuprofen, for sure. Alpine nosed at Bucky’s legs as if considering his lap as an alternative to the bed, but Bucky encouraged him and eventually he curled up in the bed next to Bucky instead of on top of him. Darcy smiled at that and went to grab the ibuprofen and water. By the time she’d returned, Alpine was snoring again, his dragon still in his mouth.

“I am going to die of cuteness overload,” she said, staring at Alpine. Gaze not wavering, she handed off the ibuprofen and water to Bucky and traded them for her phone, which she used to snap a few pictures of Alpine, then of Bucky fawning over Alpine and totally ignoring her photography session. Jane would be _so_ jealous.

Darcy put her phone away and sat down on Bucky’s other side, tangling their fingers and memorizing that soft smile he wore as he listened to Alpine snore. She had never felt this way about anyone before, this bubbling-over unending well of affection and adoration and joy at just looking at them. _This is what being in love feels like._ Bucky met her gaze then and his expression didn’t change a bit. His left hand, which had been petting Alpine’s head, moved to brush a lock of hair behind Darcy’s ear and stroked her cheek. “What is it, doll?”

“I just love you so damn much,” she said honestly. Bucky blushed crimson and his smile curled into a shy grin. It was too damn cute and she kissed him until her heart was racing and she could feel her blood in her veins. When Bucky groaned against her lips, she teased his lip with her tongue, then pulled back far enough to watch his eyes open, pupils blown. She quirked an eyebrow at him. “So…since I love you so much…I was thinking I could maybe give you a massage…”

One corner of Bucky’s mouth curled upward in a wicked smirk. “Does this massage involve my arm or some other part of me?”

“Well, technically two massages. I’d like to massage your arm with my hands and then there’s a massage I’d like to give you that doesn’t involve your arm _or_ my hands.”

Bucky bit his kiss-swollen lower lip, still smirking. It was the kind of look that had her already damp panties getting very quickly wetter. “Does it involve your mouth…?”

“On your cock? Yeah, it definitely does.”

“And what did I do to deserve such thorough treatment?”

Darcy raised an eyebrow as if to say _really?_ “Sweetie, I love you so much it’s ridiculous _and_ you brought home a puppy. How did you not expect a blowjob for that?”

Bucky started laughing then and yeah, that blowjob was _definitely_ happening asap.

They ended up moving Alpine’s bed to the floor by the foot of the bed for the night because Bucky didn’t have it in him to try and convince Alpine not to follow them to the bedroom. Thankfully, Alpine was happy to go right back to sleep in his bed and Darcy had no qualms about blowing Bucky under the covers with his dog only five feet away. Alpine snored through the entire interlude, plus the additional things that came before and after, which was enough to set Darcy and Bucky to giggling like teenagers at frankly ridiculous moments.

As they sprawled in bed together afterward, both naked and sticky with sweat, Darcy listened to Bucky’s heart beating under her ear and measured his breaths, waiting for him to nod off. Eventually he did and she breathed a sigh of relief. She knew he hadn’t slept well last night and she had worried that finding Alpine might trigger a few too many parallels to Bucky’s own time on the street. It had certainly been doing that for her, turning her into a twisted-up ball of panic more than once that afternoon.

At the moment, though, still a little blissed-out and pleasantly-aching from the very extensive handjob Bucky had given her, Darcy’s mind was on other things.

They hadn’t gone all the way yet and she knew that it was up to her to make that move. After things Bucky had said about _wanting her in every way_ and _not knowing how to ask for things anymore_ , she knew that she had to make that move and that he wasn’t going to say ‘no.’ In fact, she was sure he wanted it and she definitely wanted it, had since bathing him that first night if she was being perfectly honest.

But actual sex was very different from oral and handjobs for someone with control issues. Darcy knew this because being with Bucky wasn’t the first time she’d been with someone with control issues on one side of that spectrum or the other. She’d only been with one guy who tried to control her, had only slept with him once before breaking it off, and it had still messed with her head for over a year after, leaving her with a need to be in control herself until she got past that experience. And Darcy had consented, had been totally okay with that experience during it, just didn’t like how she felt after. Bucky had absolutely _not_ consented to the bullshit excuse for sex the ex-fuckface had put him through. 

So, Darcy knew. It was one thing to make out and to trade blowjobs and handjobs after that kind of experience. Those were logistically easy situations to get out of if things went sideways, especially since she had _never_ been on top while Bucky gave her oral and never intended to be after what he’d been through. But Bucky had made it clear the other day that he couldn’t be on top for sex, not with his arm the way it was, and full-on sex was a whole different animal in terms of control and power dynamics. Going there without him on top to control things and back away if need be was a risk to his mental health.

Darcy loved to be on top and had no issue with their status quo of her leading things and checking in with Bucky for consent. She was totally on board with that. But did she really expect him to get through sex with her on top totally normally? She wasn’t going to pin him down, she could _never_ pin Bucky down, and she wasn’t going to put extra weight on him or go too fast or any of the other shitty things she had a feeling he’d come to expect. But, in the moment, with her on top and him unable to get out from under her, was he going to 100% believe that? Or was the situation going to override what he knew about her and their relationship and fuck his brain up?

She couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t be in the throes of passion one moment and in the next watch his eyes glaze over the way they did when he was remembering _Brock._

He wanted it, though. She could see it in his eyes, could feel it in his hands when they tightened on her hips. And she knew that the negative self-talk in his head was going to start telling him that she didn’t actually want him if she waited too much longer. He needed to feel wanted and loved and sexy and all of those things that he hadn’t felt in over a year, not until he’d gotten physical with Darcy. He deserved to feel those things and Darcy knew that after the shit he’d been through, Bucky’s sex life was a big piece of his recovery, a huge part of him that he needed to reclaim if he wanted his confidence back. And she knew he wanted that at least as much as he wanted Darcy.

How, then? She couldn’t lay him flat on the bed and ride him, she knew that. That was too much forfeiture of control, even when if he was thinking logically and wanted to, Bucky could totally throw her off him. He never would, no matter what went wrong, and that meant it wouldn’t work. No, she needed to find a way to make it happen where they could be on equal footing at least, preferably with him more in control, which would be tough if he couldn’t put weight on that arm. She’d happily let him fuck her brain-dead if he could be on top, but that wasn’t going to happen with his arm the way it was, not even when she knew he’d try it if she let him. She wouldn’t allow a situation where sex and pain of any kind could possibly be associated for him. No way.

So, how?

What about upright on the couch? He seemed to consider that a safe space for him and they’d made out like that before to great fanfare. They could just do that again with less clothes…? It would at least put them eye-to-eye as opposed to her looming over him in bed.

Or standing up against furniture? Not very romantic, but Darcy couldn’t lie and say she’d never imagined being stretched out across her counter or coffee table while Bucky fucked her until she forgot her name. Actually, that could work on the edge of the bed. That could sort of count as romantic because it was the bed. And in a situation like that, he would be totally in control, no hands on him, no weight on him, no pressure on his arm….

Okay. That could work. Except for the part where him being _totally_ in control meant him taking initiative.

Ugh. That would take some time. Or serious sexual manipulation on her part that she wasn’t sure she was comfortable with. Bucky came partway out of his shell once they got hot and heavy, she knew that. The man gave the best damn oral she’d ever had in her _life_ and he couldn’t be executing that without some confidence _._ There were certain buttons she could push to help him relax. She could get him there.

Did she want to, though? Or was that too soon? Was it asking for trouble when he had so much garbage rattling around in his head? She couldn’t push him. She wouldn’t. She knew he wanted her to make the first move, but she couldn’t do that with this, not when there was so much at stake.

Nope. She knew how she’d make it work when he found the initiative to be in charge. Until then, they were going to continue sharing fantastic make-out sessions and hand and mouth stuff. And she would find another way to boost his confidence and keep boosting it until he did take charge.

Darcy raised an eyebrow, smirking to herself as she thought. Carefully so as not to wake Bucky, she reached for her phone on the nightstand. She double-checked the image in her Photos, mumbling numbers to herself to remember them, then toggled over to sign up for a Netflix account. Netflix thanked her for her prepaid one-year subscription under a fake name and address and Darcy, grinning impishly at herself, ordered a Roku using her own credit card because that would have to be physically shipped to her.

She had a feeling that watching _The Witcher_ together would do wonders for Bucky’s confidence level. Especially when Brock had paid for it and couldn’t trace it back to her or get it refunded. Karma rocked.

And, because she was in the right mood for it, Darcy decided that Brock was going to prepay for another one-year subscription. This one had a real name and address on it, though. His.

\----------------

It took Hydra’s tech department _days_ to get his laptop fixed. _Fucking DAYS._ And Brock wasn’t dumb enough to do personal work on his desktop at Hydra when he already had everyone looking at him funny, which meant that it was _days_ before he could do jack shit looking for Bucky.

Fucking Rollins had suggested Brock get a toupee and he’d punched the asshole in the jaw. His fucking uncle had had a toupee and was the oldest, whiniest, most pathetic piece of shit Brock knew and he _wasn’t that._

The hair would grow back. He was taking enough overpriced supplements to make it grow faster that it _had to grow back_.

On Monday morning, he walked into Hydra with a spring in his step, having received an email (on his phone, not his fucking laptop), that his laptop was functional again and he could pick it up this morning. He arrived to work early so he could grab it before he needed to stop at his desk and then proceed to Pierce’s office. The tech guys were fucking _morons_ who didn’t seem to actually know how they’d gotten the porno virus off his laptop. The pop-ups had just stopped, according to them, which, in Brock’s experience, wasn’t how fucking viruses worked. But he had his laptop back, so he wasn’t about to complain.

He got to his desk and was checking his emails and interoffice messaging when the mail carrier came by. Normally the kid just dropped Brock’s stuff into his mailbox on his desk and scurried away whether he was there or not. The fear always made Brock smirk. This time, though, the mail carrier froze next to Brock’s desk, pile of mail in his hands, and stammered out, “Um…sir…?”

“What?” Brock snapped. He wheeled on the kid, whose eyes were huge and whose face was beet-red. A shaking hand offered Brock his thin stack of mail. Brock snatched it from the idiot’s hand as Rollins and Sitwell approached and leaned against his desk. “Fuck off, kid,” Brock growled at him. The kid fucked off.

Rollins snorted at the mail carrier’s hurried departure. “What the hell was that?”

“Fuck if I know,” Brock grumbled.

Sitwell burst out laughing then, though, and Brock and Rollins stared at him. Sitwell immediately bit his lip, obviously restraining more laughter, but the entire office had already gone quiet and dozens of eyes were on them. Sitwell gestured at Brock’s mail. “Dude…you should really have that delivered to your apartment.”

“What?” Brock glared at Sitwell, but the other man showed no sign of fear and, stomach sinking, Brock looked down at the mail. It was a small stack, but the piece on top was clearly discernable to anyone within a thirty-foot radius who bothered to glance over.

It was a fucking issue of _Mandate_. The man on the very glossy, very colorful cover didn’t have his cock out yet, he was still in his fucking briefs, but it was blatantly obvious what would be on page two.

“What the _shit_ …” Brock scrambled to chuck the dirty magazine under his desk, which was apparently the icebreaker everyone needed to start laughing their fucking asses off. The room erupted in laughter and Brock felt his entire face flush as white-hot rage pumped through his blood.

_How in the FUCK…?_

“Rumlow!” Pierce barked. The room quieted, but everyone wore shit-eating grins and talked behind their hands as Brock stood and took the long walk down the length of the room to where his obviously livid employer was waiting at his office door. Under his breath, Pierce hissed, “Did you have fucking porn delivered to your desk here? What the fuck? Get in here!”

Brock scrambled into the office and the door slammed shut behind him. Through the heavy wood pane, he could hear the laughter explode once more as soon as Pierce’s shadow had ceased to darken the room.

When he figured out which of Bucky’s friends had sent a porn magazine to Hydra, he was going to jam said magazine _down their throat._

\-----------------

On Monday morning, Darcy was called into Tony Stark’s private office, where she found him leaned back in his chair, feet up on his desk, popcorn bowl in his lap. Popcorn pieces were _everywhere_ and Tony was laughing so hard tears were streaming down his face. “Oh good, you’re here! Come over here and watch this, I’ll rewind it.”

Darcy came around Tony’s desk to stand over his shoulder, smirking and hoping that whatever he was watching had something to do with her special order for Brock. It looked suspiciously like a security feed. “‘Rewind’? You realize you’re dating yourself, right?”

“Shh! Watch!”

Darcy watched and burst into laughter with Tony as the scene unfolded. She didn’t know how Tony had managed to hack Hydra’s security feeds, but the camera he was watching from got a perfect angle of Brock Rumlow’s face (bald head and all!) as he realized what was on top of his stack of mail, as well as a good panorama of the room of over thirty Hydra agents laughing at him.

“Oh god, this is _gold!_ ” Tony exclaimed. “Rewind it again, Jarvis.”

“Yes, sir.” Even the AI sounded like he was enjoying the show.

“This is right up there with watching their tech department try to fix his laptop. I sent the footage to Skye, did she show you?”

“Yeah, she sent me a copy! The best part was when she turned it off for them and they had no idea what happened.”

“Right?! And the idiots gave it back to him even though it totally still has the malware on it! God, I love this. Thank you for brightening my life, Lewis. Any time you want to host another Revenge Circle, send me an invite, I’ll be there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Mandate" was a real magazine whose parent company went under and ceased printing in 2009. In this fic's universe, it is still actively printing a monthly issue. "Mandate" was designed to be the equivalent of "Playboy" for gay men, if that's not clear from Brock's perspective. I have zero issues with people purchasing and enjoying pornography of any kind (I read and write smut for Thor's sake), but I think we can all agree that having something like that show up on your desk at work is a bad day no matter what your sexual preferences are. Darcy knows that and also knows that regardless of Brock's sexual preferences, someone with that much toxic masculinity is going to be more embarrassed by an issue of "Mandate" being handed to him in front of his coworkers than "Playboy" because that's just how social norms are in this country right now.
> 
> It pained me to let Darcy put the brakes on The Next Step in their physical relationship, but I think she was right to do so and once she decided, she wasn't budging on it. Bucky has too much in his head right now and The Next Step is going to be a hurdle that takes a few chapters for them to climb over. They will get there, though, and it will be a happy scene when they get there because Darcy is waiting until she's sure Bucky is well enough to be totally present and enjoying himself ALL NIGHT LONG. In the meantime, there will be plenty of smut and fluff to enjoy while they work on Bucky's self-confidence.
> 
> The next chapter will be another that many of you have been waiting for! It will involve the addition of at least one important character tag.... ;)


	15. Group Therapy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, a new character tag. :)

By Monday, Alpine was doing much better in a lot of ways. He absolutely adored Bucky and Darcy and no longer showed any signs of nervousness when he could see them, though he still seemed to get anxious when they were out of sight and startled easily. He wasn’t overly sleepy or whimpering in pain either, hadn’t been since Friday, and Bucky kept checking his wounds, but they appeared to be healing nicely and Alpine paid them little mind. He was eating most of the food Bucky and Darcy gave him and taking his medicine without complaint. He hadn’t begun to gain much in the way of visible weight yet, but after a little research, Bucky came up with a short-term solution to that which was likely to become a long-term solution because he was a soft touch and when he explained to Darcy, she just rolled her eyes and kissed him indulgently.

He was literally giving Alpine doggy pumpkin pie on top of his breakfast. Seriously, it was a thing. Canned pumpkin, egg, sugar, milk, and cinnamon microwaved and globbed onto Alpine’s food. Alpine now sat by his food dish in the morning and gave Bucky his most pathetic eyes until breakfast was served. No kibble was left behind anymore and Alpine was getting way less hesitant about accepting food too.

Unfortunately, for being by all appearances a highly intelligent, eager-to-please dog, Alpine wouldn’t listen for anything. He didn’t seem to have learned his name yet, didn’t come when called, and didn’t respond to any of the verbal cues Bucky was trying to teach him short of a head tilt and only that when there was also eye contact. If Alpine wasn’t watching Bucky, he didn’t respond at all. Not that Bucky cared much, but he figured that a dog as sharp as Alpine would get bored without learning things and the Internet confirmed his suspicions. Alpine wasn’t learning, though, and when Bucky took him outside to do his business, he stayed close to his uncollared, unleashed dog and watched nervously, knowing that if something went wrong and he had to call Alpine to him, the dog wouldn’t come.

Bucky had made a standing appointment with Sam for Thursdays at ten, but he remembered Sam’s insistence that he was welcome at any of the group meetings. After a few days holed up in the apartment with Alpine, and Darcy when she wasn’t working, Bucky was feeling his skin starting to crawl with nerves and the crap Sam called ‘negative self-talk’ whining in the back of his head like white noise, always there and crippling if he bothered to pay attention to it. He needed to get out, needed to feel like he was doing something vaguely important, especially since Alpine spent about six hours in the middle of every day just snoozing and leaving Bucky with no conscious company. So, on Monday, Bucky dragged himself out of the apartment, gritted his teeth through a cab ride, and shuffled into the VA in Harlem for the first group session he’d attended in nearly a year.

He wasn’t _late_ , but he was cutting it pretty damn close after angsting in the doorway of Darcy’s apartment building longer than he should have. When he got to the room the receptionist had pointed to, it was already mostly full. Unlike previous groups he’d been to, here the room was well-lit with big windows, there was a huge carafe of coffee near the door that one of the guys was currently helping himself to, and the chairs were arranged in a circle facing each other with more chairs at the edges of the room in case extra people showed. Most of the chairs were occupied, but Bucky set his sights on an open one with good sightlines on the door and windows. Sam was busy talking animatedly to a big blond guy at the other end of the room, but grinned and waved to Bucky as he entered. Bucky waved back and silently sank into his chair, hoping to get through this meeting without Sam forcing him to speak. He really just wanted to see how this worked and build up his confidence a bit by being here and seeing that other guys had similar issues.

Most of the seats were filled now and Sam finished his conversation and approached the group, grabbing a chair. The big guy went for a chair too, but Bucky’s attention was focused on trying to telepathically beg Sam not to force him to speak and he paid the guy and everyone else in the circle no mind. Sam settled in, smiling around at everyone in that inviting way he had. “Thanks for coming, everybody. I know it’s not easy to commit to being here and I appreciate you all hanging out with me.” There was a chuckle from a few of the guys, but not Bucky. He was focusing on drilling the fingers of his right hand into his thigh, trying to will away the insects crawling under his flesh. Sam went on, “We have a few new faces here today, so I’m just going to briefly remind everyone that this is a really casual thing. You don’t have to say _anything_ unless you want to. If you want to speak, no one will interrupt you unless you get really off-topic talking about cat videos or some shit. Nothing is off-limits here and I can promise you that if there’s something you’re struggling with, someone in this room is also struggling with the same thing or has in the past, so there’s no harm in sharing. The only way to get kicked out of this room is to say something unkind to someone else and I know nobody here’s going to do that anyway, so I’m not worried. I always start ‘cuz I’m nice like that. So, I’m Sam, obviously. I served as pararescue in Iraq for three tours, found a lot of comfort in talk therapy after I lost my wingman over there, and decided to put my fancy degree to use helping other folks like me. Most of the time, I’m doing pretty good, but life ain’t perfect.” Sam wasn’t smiling anymore, but still exuded warmth and openness. It was admirable. “Last night I woke up from a nightmare about Riley going down. First one in three months, had myself fooled into thinking I’d kicked them. Recovery isn’t linear, though, right? I don’t know where it came from, sometimes that shit just happens. I did my grounding, though, got myself believing I was in my bed at home, not sitting in the dirt downrange holding Riley’s broken body. And then I went out to my kitchen and had some apple pie my momma made me because that shit fixes everything.” He did smile then and a few quiet chuckles answered him. “I miss him. I miss him so damn much. And that’s okay.”

Quiet fell and the group allowed it, everyone deciding silently and simultaneously to offer a moment of silence for Sam’s wingman. Bucky thought of Sam and of his wingman, Riley. He thought of Stevens dropping like a marionette whose strings had been cut next to him. Thought of Peter crying and speed-talking nervously as he carried him to the LZ. Peter had been fucking _drenched_ in blood by the time they made it there. Bucky had gotten a glimpse of the kid as Peter backed away that he would never forget as long as he lived.

Sam looked around at the group then, eyes shining, and just barely smiled. “Thanks for listening. Anyone else want to talk?”

And it proceeded like that, vets from all branches and all different experiences speaking one at a time, going uninterrupted and being afforded a moment of silence when it was needed. They tended to bounce off each other. The guy who spoke after Sam had also lost his closest friend, though for him it had been an IED. The woman after him had lost her leg to an IED and talked about her struggles with her prosthetic. The man after her had lost his arm in Vietnam and gone through a few different prosthetics, but had settled on a situation that worked for him and assured the woman that she would figure it out, especially now that there were better options out there than there had been during ‘Nam. Some of them struggled with hypervigilance or suffered from anxiety bouts and panic attacks. Most of the room had struggled to get there at all, like Bucky, which he suspected was why Sam had started the session eight minutes after the scheduled time, not wanting anyone to guilt-trip themselves for running late. Some of them awoke from vicious nightmares and one talked about panicking when his wife dropped something and startled him badly enough that he accidentally pulled a gun on her, thankfully realizing his mistake immediately. The poor guy had insisted on locking up the guns and giving her the key and was now battling even worse hypervigilance without his sidearm to help him feel more secure.

Some of them missed war. They struggled to make decisions now that there were so many to make. They felt bored and purposeless, lost in the monotony of a life not spent actively fighting to save lives.

“I got a coffee yesterday.”

Bucky blinked and his eyes snapped to the speaker. He’d know that voice anywhere and sure enough, that was Steve fucking Rogers sitting four seats to his right. He hadn’t recognized him all big and jacked with muscles, had known him briefly after his growth spurt and seen him since then, but in his head always pictured that scrawny spitfire he’d grown up with. But that was definitely him.

Bucky’s stomach sank and his skin, which had finally quieted, began to crawl in earnest.

Steve looked tired and appeared to have aged twenty years in ten, maybe a combination of poor sleep and a lot of time exposed to sun and sand in the desert. He was all muscle under his jacket, though, that was clear, so either recently stateside or obsessively keeping up with his conditioning. Bucky hadn’t seen him since the summer after Steve’s first year at West Point, when he’d visited him and they’d had very little to talk about with Steve so focused on his career ambitions and Bucky still working as a mechanic and going to beer parties in Brooklyn. Steve was shaking his head, blue eyes foggy thinking of that coffee. He snorted to himself and went on. “That’s probably dumb to a lot of people, but it’s been a weirdly difficult thing for me, ordering coffee I mean. Downrange I made decisions that saved or ended men’s lives, but back here a barista asks what kind of milk I want in my latte and I choke. There’s just…so much. And it’s all little things that don’t seem to matter, but they matter to everyone in line behind me. It’s overwhelming. Everything’s so much simpler over there. Every time I’m home on leave I’m vibrating out of my skin waiting to go back. But I’m not going back. My contract was up and Sharon said I need to be home and help raise our little girl. She didn’t say it, but I know she meant that if I signed another contract…chose the Army over them again…that would be it. I’d just have the Army. And I…I love her. I love her so damn much and I love our girl that I barely even know. But yeah…yesterday was the first time I managed to get a coffee at Starbucks without dissociating or having a panic attack or vomiting on the fucking sidewalk outside. And that’s good, but…yeah. Kind of sad too.”

Bucky’s insides twisted and he stared at Steve, remembering for the thousandth time standing in that coffeeshop nine months ago, barely recognizing himself and watching Steve look right through him and not recognize him either. It had gutted Bucky and he could have tried to speak to Steve, but he hadn’t, just stared and eventually walked out the door empty-handed, shaking and sick, thinking that he was so broken that his Stevie hadn’t even recognized him.

But Bucky hadn’t been the only one having an emotional crisis in that moment.

Had Steve even _seen him?_ Or had he been panicking or dissociating?

“You gotta celebrate the little things, man,” Sam was saying. “That’s awesome that you were finally able to do that, I know things like that haven’t been easy for you. And I know it’s going to be tough being on the homefront for good, but you’ll thank yourself for that. Sharon adores you, man, and Rosie does too. That time with them is precious and they can help you through some of the difficult shit while you settle in. And we can help you too.”

There was a chorus of rumbled agreements and Steve half-smiled. It was the closest he’d come to a real smile since he’d started talking and Bucky knew because he’d barely blinked since he realized _Steve fucking Rogers_ was in the room. “Thanks, guys. That means a lot.”

Quiet. After a long moment, Sam said, “We’ve got time for one more. Anybody?”

More quiet. Something stirred in Bucky’s chest as he continued to stare at Steve, who wasn’t looking around, maybe hadn’t even realized he was there, just like he maybe hadn’t even realized he had been in that coffeeshop with him nine months ago. 

“Last Wednesday was the first coffee I bought in nine months,” Bucky said.

Steve’s blue eyes snapped up to meet his and Bucky watched his childhood best friend’s face shatter into sudden shock and sadness, eyes filling with tears. Bucky’s own eyes burned, but he went on. “I was good downrange. Knew who I was and what I was worth. But I got blown halfway to hell a year ago and med-boarded out and I’ve been a mess since. Didn’t help that I went home with my boyfriend at the time instead of my family. He preferred me broken, did what he could to keep me that way. I’m in a better place now and trying to get back on my feet, even found someone else who likes me whole and is helping me get there, but yeah. First coffee in nine months…and a year ago I was shooting HVTs at over a mile out. It’s fucking weird. Sometimes, it’s enough to convince me that the shit my ex put in my head was real, that I really am as pathetic as he always said. But I’m not. I know that he wouldn’t have survived what I have, that he wouldn’t have put his life on the line for his country or his family or his friends. I know that if he had to wake up every morning and look himself in the mirror with the shit in his head that I have, he would have put his face through it and cut his throat like I thought about doing once. But I keep getting up and squaring off with that mirror and I keep fucking going when he wouldn’t have. And now I know I can buy myself a coffee again and that was the best fucking coffee I’ve ever had in my life.”

“Amen to that,” Sam said. “You’re a badass, Bucky, and don’t let anyone tell you differently. Every one of you guys are badasses for what you did for your country and for what you do just getting up every day and continuing to fight your battles in your head. It’s an honor to be in your company and to share experiences with you.”

The session wrapped up and the minute it was concluded, Bucky was on his feet, eyes still on Steve. Steve did one better and launched himself across the room, grabbing Bucky in a fierce hug that would have had him flinching if Steve hadn’t been bawling his eyes out. “Christ, Buck,” he mumbled into Bucky’s shoulder. “I haven’t seen you in years. I heard you enlisted, but I didn’t know if you’d want me looking over your shoulder. Shit…I missed you so damn much.”

Bucky locked his own arms around Steve’s ribs and squeezed hard, remembering hugging Steve goodbye when he’d shipped off to West Point and Bucky had stayed in Brooklyn to work a few years and ‘figure shit out.’ He should have gone with him, should have convinced him to stay, should have stayed in touch better, something. “I missed you too, punk. Ah fuck…I really wish we made for better penpals.”

Steve snorted. “Right?” He loosened his hold on Bucky, then, and stepped back, but not far, one hand still planted on Bucky’s right shoulder. Bucky used to make fun of Steve for having disproportionately large hands and it was kind of funny that somewhere in the course of a late burst of puberty and a lot of working out, the rest of Steve had grown to be proportionate to his hands. “Can we catch up? Please? I really missed you and I don’t want to lose track of you again.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

They ended up going to a nearby diner that Steve had visited with Sam many times. Steve and Sam had become friends when their units worked joint ops during one of their tours and had remained friends, a feat made possible by operating from the same base while downrange and Sam being a much better penpal than Bucky, willing to do all the work harassing Steve and forcing him to get out and do social things or attend VA meetings whenever he was stateside. The diner was greasy and had plenty of open booths to choose from. The menu was distressingly large, but Bucky watched Steve ignore his menu in favor of choosing the biggest plate on the specials board. Sam would tell him to pick his battles and this seemed like a good place for that, so he told the waitress he’d take the same and sipped his black coffee in relief when she and the menus were gone.

Steve dumped a ridiculous amount of sugar and creamer into his coffee and stirred it, then turned his earnest blue eyes to Bucky again. “So…how do you know Sam?”

It wasn’t what Bucky had expected him to ask, but Steve had been Bucky’s friend through rough patches when they were kids and must remember how much Bucky hated to talk about the crappy things unless he was the one who brought them up. “Friend of a friend,” he answered. “My girl, Darcy…she introduced us. He’s a good guy.”

“He is.” A slow smile curved Steve’s mouth then. “Darcy, huh? Do you still only blush about the ones you really like?”

Bucky hadn’t realized he’d been blushing that time, but now he felt his face burn and couldn’t suppress a bit of a smirk. “Yeah. She’s something. Sweetest thing and funny as hell. Body like a Coke bottle, no joke.”

Steve quirked an eyebrow, outright grinning now. “You know how many girls I watched you flirt with? And then guys too? And I could tell they didn’t mean anything back then and I always wondered if you’d find someone. But this…this is Bucky Barnes, Brooklyn’s own Casanova, in love. It’s heartwarming.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but couldn’t make himself stop smiling or blushing. “You’re still a fucking troll. And _married!_ How the hell did that happen? It can’t be the skills I tried and failed to teach you.”

Steve shot a glare at him that had zero weight, still grinning and now blushing himself. “I think she was flattered by how awkward I was. Eventually I knew her well enough that I got past it and then things really took off. Married four years now.”

“With a little girl?”

Steve instantly melted and began gushing. “Rosie. She’s turning three next month and she’s _so sweet, Buck_. And _smart_ too! God, she was talking before most of her daycare could crawl. Sharon and I had a hell of a time learning to watch our mouths because Rosie repeats _everything_. I’m serious, the third word out of her mouth was _fuck_ , I shit you not, Buck.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow in a challenge. “A chip off the punk block. Has she punched anyone at daycare yet?”

Steve’s face twisted a bit and he shrugged. “She didn’t punch him…she may have smashed him in the face with a toy dinosaur, though.”

Bucky couldn’t help laughing at that, remembering the many times he’d hauled Steve’s angry-Chihuahua ass out of playground brawls and then back-alley fistfights. “Karma is a bitch, isn’t it?”

“Jerk,” Steve said. He was practically sparkling with overflowing love again, though, and immediately launched back into, “She’s so damn cute, though, Buck, you have to meet her sometime. Sharon’s been putting her hair in pigtails with the binger-bongers that I can never remember what they’re called and it’s so fucking cute. And she’s got this face that she gets when she wants something and I know she’s going to use it like a WMD someday, but I cave _every fucking time_.”

Bucky was still laughing and cut Steve off before he got too far down the rabbit-hole. “Alright, alright! I’d love to meet her sometime. And Sharon.”

“And I want to meet Darcy!” Steve said, regaining a bit of focus, along with that impish grin. “I need to meet the woman who managed to save so many potentially-broken hearts from Bucky Barnes.”

“You’re such a punk.” Suddenly, Steve’s smile faltered and the humor drained out of Bucky watching that. Apparently the small talk was over. He swallowed hard and gritted his teeth, getting his hot coffee in both hands to ground him. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Ask.”

“I don’t need to,” Steve said very softly, eyes molten with sadness. “You’re not the only person I’ve known who got their brain put in a blender by someone they loved. I’m so damn sorry, though, Buck. That sucks and you of all people didn’t fucking deserve that.”

Bucky shrugged stiffly. “That’s how he got me to let him do it, though…he had me thinking I did deserve it.”

“That’s not true, though. You’ve gotta know that’s not true.”

“Sometimes I do. I sure as fuck didn’t then.”

Steve stared at him for a heavy moment, the pain and sadness written across his face. “But you’re out? And Darcy is good for you?”

“Yeah. She’s amazing. It’s only been a few weeks, but…I’m getting there. Just getting out of that space helped so much.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed just a bit and Bucky wondered what the hell he’d seen on his face. Steve could get riled-up and self-righteous about just about anything. If he knew what had gone on with Brock…. Suddenly, Steve raised an open hand and that movement, combined with the shitty direction this conversation had taken, had Bucky flinching flat against the seat of the booth. Steve immediately dropped his hand onto the table, _no threat here_ , not that there'd ever been any from him of all people, and began shaking his head, teeth grinding audibly as his eyes began to shine again. “Ah, Buck. I’m so sorry. I could fucking kill him. Damn it. I shouldn’t have done that, should have just asked...I’m sorry.”

Bucky bit his tongue so hard his own eyes began to water, eyes on his coffee cup. “’s okay. You knew I would have probably lied. I always lied if it kept you from getting in another fight.”

Steve was still shaking his hand. “Goddamn, Buck. Tell me you charged him. Tell me you killed him, something.”

He shook his head, shame clogging his throat. “Got my stuff back from him last week,” he forced himself to say. “And I have an awful lot of protective friends now, including Darcy, who have been keeping an eye on him and making his life hell. He doesn’t know where I am…yet. Eventually, I’ll probably have to kill him if I want to come out in one piece.”

“Jesus, Buck. You think he’ll stalk you?”

“I _know_ he’ll stalk me. He probably already would be if Darcy didn’t have friends in high places fucking with his laptop and whatever else. And he’s not going to be understanding when he finds me. And Darcy….” Bucky’s hands tightened into fists and he met Steve’s gaze, full of fury. “He’d kill Darcy if he ever saw her again. I can’t let that happen.”

“Give me a name,” Steve said, almost sounding reasonable. It was a terrifying tone coming from him and had to be something he'd learned in the military to get his way when brute force didn't cut it. “Or do it yourself and I’ll help you bury him.”

“I don’t think you realize how tempting that is.”

“Oh, I do. Say the word and I’m your guy.”

Bucky felt himself soften a little bit, his insides warmed by the vengeful love of his friends. “Unfortunately, if I give the word that I want him dead, you’re going to be something like fifth in line to murder him. Darcy has dibs, she’s the scariest.”

Steve grinned at the sudden levity. “Of course you’re in love with your scariest friend.”

“Hey, when I went to get my stuff, she came with me and tased the jackass in the junk. That woman is vicious when she wants to be.”

“Good. I’m glad the woman you’re in love with is willing to tase someone in the junk for you. That _is_ what you deserve.”

He snorted and a corner of his mouth curled upward. “Thanks, I think.”

Steve shrugged, smirking a little again. “Hey, I know you’re tough as nails, but I also know that underneath that you’re a soft touch and sometimes people need to be tased in the junk by someone with no remorse.”

“For the record, she’s a soft touch too…just not for people who hurt people.”

“Specifically people who hurt you. You don’t tase someone in the junk for just anyone, Buck.”

“I suppose.” A slow grin crept across his face and Bucky added, “That wasn’t all she did, either. You ever put Nair in someone’s shampoo?”

Steve’s smile turned absolutely wicked. “No, but that’s a really nice idea.”

“‘Nice’ probably isn’t the right word, but it’s definitely satisfying.”

Their food arrived then and they moved on to less painful topics. Good stories about their time downrange. A highlight reel of Steve’s courtship of Sharon and their wedding day, which had several times nearly turned catastrophic and been saved at the last minute by Sharon being brilliant, if Steve was to be believed. Stories about Peggy, also known as Steve’s ex, also known as Sharon’s cousin who set them up, also known as Steve’s best woman and Rosie’s godmother. Stories about Natasha and the Howlies. Stories about Alpine, who Steve was desperate to meet. He’d always wanted a dog but couldn’t get one with being downrange most of the last ten years.

Steve’s brow furrowed when Bucky told him about Alpine’s lack of listening skills. “That’s weird. Maybe he’s as stubborn as you.”

“Or as stubborn as you.”

“That would be unfortunate for you…jerk.” Steve pursed his lips, thinking. “You know, I have a friend I served with who trains dogs now. Mostly PTSD service dogs, but he does behavioral stuff too, fosters and rehabs rescues so they have a better chance of being adopted, that kind of thing. He could meet Alpine and help you out. He’d do it for free to scratch off a favor he owes me.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Does he owe you a lot of favors?”

Steve snorted. “Um, yeah. Dumbass was constantly getting in over his head or injured downrange, usually falling off of something. Awesome shot, great eyes, but an absolute dumpster fire in every other way. He really is great with dogs, way better than he is with people. He’d probably do a consult for free just to pick your brain about sniper stuff, but if I tell him it’s worth one of those favors he’d be ecstatic.”

“Was he a sniper?”

“Yep. I don’t know if you’d know him, he hung it up four years ago now. Clint ‘Hawkeye’ Barton?”

Well that was a name he hadn’t heard in years. Bucky grinned, slow and confident. It felt a little weird on his face, like trying on a favorite pair of jeans that hadn’t fit in years and finding he’d gotten back into them. “I’ve never met him, but I broke one of his academy records and remember the name.”

Steve grinned like the punk he was. “I know you did and thank you for that. I still bring it up sometimes to get a rise out of him.”

“Steven Rogers, you fucking troll!”

“Yeah, but I’m your _favorite_ troll.”

It was a line Steve had thrown back at him a thousand times over the years and it made Bucky smile now just as it always had. It was still true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Liebekatzke for the pumpkin pie idea. Alpine says it's delicious!
> 
> Bucky: Seriously, you'd be, like, fifth in line.  
> Steve: We could each grab an appendage and on the count of three start cutting.  
> Bucky: .....  
> Bucky: I think I know which appendage Darcy will want.


	16. Bottling Lightning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since I updated! Thank you to those of you who poked me and asked if I was coming back. Your support is so appreciated. December ended up being a bit of a nightmare for me (isn't it for everyone?) and I also got word that two original stories I wrote are going to be published, so I was doing some editing work for that and reevaluating my career plans. But, I'm back now and I think you'll agree that this chapter is worth the wait. :)

Here's a pic of Alpine for you. Look at those can-we-snuggle eyes.... <3<3<3

As it turned out, Bucky had met Hawkeye in person before, just not anywhere he’d expected. The realization came when he opened the apartment door on Tuesday afternoon expecting a stranger and instead saw Lucky’s owner, Clint. Clint grinned at him in recognition and nodded, as if satisfied at being proven right about something. “Thought that was you. Someone on the dark web tried to hire me to take you out two years ago and they had a really grainy picture, but I thought you looked familiar. Clint Barton.”

Bucky shook the other sniper’s outstretched hand, feeling insects humming under his skin at the weird situation. Even weirder, Bucky realized that Clint had a set of hearing aids in that were a neon purple color and wondered if the man’s deafness had been a factor in his retirement. He’d never met a deaf sniper before. “Bucky Barnes. What was I worth?”

“At the time? Half a mil.” Clint scratched at the purple Band Aid plastered at his temple as if they were talking about the weather and not al Qaeda’s attempts to punch Bucky’s timecard. The man must really have a thing for purple. “I was a little busy keeping the tracksuit mafia from stealing my building back, though, so I would have wanted at least seven-fifty. One mil, preferably, since Steve’s eyebrows of disappointment would have murdered me when he inevitably found out I’d shot you.”

“Those eyebrows really are the worst,” Bucky said, concluding that someone so familiar with said eyebrows was absolutely welcome here. “Since the people who want me dead these days can’t afford your fee, want to come in?”

Clint grinned. “I like you. Sure.”

Bucky let Clint into the apartment and locked the door behind him out of habit. Clint looked around the apartment with narrowed eyes for a moment and Bucky thought he might be judging Darcy’s definition of ‘interior design’, but then Clint frowned at him. “Steve said you have a dog…?”

“I do,” Bucky said with a right-armed shrug, already heading for the couch. “He sleeps like the dead.” Alpine, sure enough, was still curled up into a bizarrely-small ball in the center of the couch, which he’d decided was his spot since it meant whoever else sat on the couch would by necessity be snuggling with him. Bucky knelt on the floor by him and very carefully reached out to stroke Alpine’s spine over his Army hoodie. “Hey, buddy,” he said softly. “Time to wake up.” Another stroke and Alpine grumbled, then another and his ears perked up and his liquid-onyx eyes snapped open, trained right on Bucky. Alpine grumbled his pleasure at seeing him and crawled to the edge of the couch to snuggle his big head into Bucky’s shoulder and reach for kisses. Bucky couldn’t help a smile at the affection and at the ball of warmth it inflated in his chest, rubbing Alpine’s shoulders and head thoroughly as he allowed the kisses.

Eventually, Bucky stood again and gestured to Alpine to get off the couch. “Come on. We’ve got company.” Alpine climbed down and stretched in a long-suffering way, but stood at attention when he saw Clint. Bucky waved his hand between them. “Alpine, Clint. Clint, Alpine.”

There was a moment of silence in which Bucky looked to Clint and realized that he was smiling at Alpine, head cocked just slightly in the same way Alpine was looking at him. Clint crouched down low, then, and offered a hand to Alpine. Alpine approached warily, but after some very thorough sniffing decided that Clint was worth approaching. He snuffled Clint’s hand, then allowed pets while he sniffed the rest of him, maybe smelling Lucky. “Such a good boy,” Clint cooed. Then, to Bucky, “So what’s the problem? Steve said you were having trouble training him?”

“Yeah, I can tell he’s smart enough, but he just doesn’t listen.”

Clint raised an eyebrow at Bucky as if he was questioning _his_ intelligence. "Well, obviously he doesn't listen, he's deaf.”

Bucky’s stomach dropped. “What? You’re kidding.”

Clint rolled his eyes and gestured to his purple hearing aids. “Dude, I don’t joke about deafness. It might not be fully gone, but it’s enough that you’re never going to be able to train him normally. Not that he cares. Dogs are resilient, they get over things like deafness like ‘ah, whatever, as long as there’s pizza that’s cool.’ Hey, check this out, though, we can totally teach him DSL.”

“What?” Bucky repeated, still lost trying to grapple with the concept of Alpine being deaf. _Please no. Poor Alpine had it rough enough._

“I mean Doggy Sign Language, obviously. Come on, Winter, he says he wants pepperoni, let's let him earn some pepperoni.” Clint pulled a package of pepperoni of all things out of a cargo pants pocket and turned his attention to Alpine, who began furiously sniffing the package, apparently the source of the fantastic smell he’d been hunting. “Right, Alpine? Pepperoni? Yeah, see him watching me? He says he wants his pepperoni so teach him some hand signals, damn it. Hey, does he respond to the word 'here'?” Bucky shook his head, stunned speechless. “Yeah, didn't think so. It's not because he's ignoring you. Watch this.” Clint stood, backed away to the kitchen, then crouched forward a bit and spread his arms wide. Alpine immediately barreled forward and reveled in the hug while Bucky stared. His tail was even wagging and his black nose was still twitching, very interested in the pepperoni. Clint grinned at Bucky. “See? Universal signal for 'come give me a hug.' Now wait until he looks and then you try it.”

Clint released Alpine and stood. A moment later, Alpine looked to Bucky and Bucky mimicked Clint’s offer of a hug. Alpine rushed him with even more enthusiasm and his whole body wiggled with joy when Bucky hugged and petted him, hands finding his shoulders like he was grabbing Alpine to keep him out of the street or something. Alpine thought that was great. 

Clint was still grinning. “Ha! Told you. That's pepperoni!” He walked over and handed Bucky a piece of pepperoni, which Bucky eyed skeptically. “What?” Clint said. “You don't keep a bag of pepperoni in your pocket? Jeez, dude, get your shit together, everyone needs pepperoni in their pocket."

Bucky couldn’t help rolling his eyes and remembering Steve’s assessment of Clint as a dumpster fire of a person. He took the pepperoni and gave it to Alpine, though, who was ecstatic to have earned the treat. “So, you can help me train him? Even though he’s deaf?”

“Oh yeah, piece of cake,” Clint said, crouching down to pet Alpine, working up to petting his ears and smiling when Alpine wasn’t bothered by that. “Oh cool. Usually, deaf dogs are kind of sensitive about their ears and you should be nice to them just in case, but he’s pretty chill about it. He was probably born deaf, it’s pretty common with white dogs. It’s something like one in ten Dogos.”

“Dogos?”

“Yeah, Alpine’s a Dogo Argentino. You probably thought he was a pit?” Bucky nodded. Clint shrugged. “Really common mistake. Dogos are just bigger and all white with the black eyes and black nose. It really doesn’t matter, but it’s kind of fun trivia. But yeah, the deafness has to do with the lack of pigment in their ears. Weird, right? He doesn’t miss hearing things, so don’t pity him, but if he’s kind of jumpy about being snuck up on or weird about watching you, it’s because he doesn’t know you’re there unless he can see you.”

Bucky stared. Alpine was both jumpy and weird about watching them. “I just thought it was a trauma thing, like he’d imprinted on me because I was nice to him when he needed somebody.”

“Well, it’s probably partly that, but it’s also just him trying to keep track of where you are.”

Suddenly Alpine’s massive black eyes following him everywhere since they’d met made a lot of fucking sense. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t realized this sooner, especially once he started trying to train Alpine. Feeling like an ass, Bucky rubbed Alpine’s face and ears just the way he liked and listened to the dog grumble with pleasure, already pressing his head harder into Bucky’s hands. At least he’d found Clint quickly and Clint obviously knew what he was talking about. Alpine was in good hands and Bucky wasn’t going to let him down now that they were on the same page. He took a steadying breath, then looked from Alpine to Clint. “So…DSL. Hand signals and body language obviously, but what about when he’s not looking at me? I tried to teach him verbal cues and he didn’t react at all when he wasn’t watching.”

Clint nodded, eyes on Alpine again. “He’s probably pretty close to fully deaf. But there are other things you can do to get his attention and we can play with that until we find something that works. We don’t want anything he might associate with past trauma like clapping or stomping a foot, but we’ll find something. He might be able to hear a whistle…we’ll try that. Otherwise flickering a flashlight or the overhead lights. If he’s in reach, you can just poke him, obviously.”

Bucky looked down and found Alpine staring up at him with those liquid onyx eyes full of love. He breathed a sigh of relief. They could do this. It wouldn’t be easy, but Alpine was fine and they could work with this. “Thank you, Clint. You’re a lifesaver.”

“You say that now, but I’m getting a rematch out of this, Winter.”

Oh, that could be fun. It had been over a year since Bucky fired a gun and god did he miss it. And shooting competitively against Hawkeye? Yeah, that sounded pretty great. “Deal. I’m probably not much with the bum arm now, though.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Pssh, whatever. I hear you have friends at Stark Industries. If you can’t fire your rifle as it is, get them to modify it and you’ll be golden. Alright, let’s see if he hears a whistle. Can you whistle? Otherwise I’ve got a pocket one.”

“I can whistle.”

\-------------

When Darcy got home from work that night, Bucky was on the couch with a mushy Alpine, who had just inhaled his dinner even though he’d spent half the afternoon gobbling down pepperoni. Bucky met Darcy’s eyes with a grin, stopping her in her tracks staring at him with a wondering smile. He held up a finger to tell her to wait and she did. Then, he whistled the high two-note tone he and Clint had come up with. Alpine immediately came out of a dead sleep, ears alert and eyes on Bucky. Bucky met Alpine’s eyes with a smile and pointed to the door. Alpine looked, saw Darcy, and jumped off the couch to hurry to greet her, big doggy grin plastered on. “Oh my god!” Darcy said, crouching down and tossing her purse and mail on the floor in one move to hug Alpine and accept kisses. “That was insane! You didn’t even say anything! Is this trainer a wizard?”

Bucky got off the couch and leaned against the back of it, watching Darcy and Alpine love on each other with something warm bubbling inside his chest. “He is definitely an awesome trainer, but mostly he just knew what he was looking at. Alpine doesn’t listen because he can’t hear us. He’s deaf.” Darcy’s jaw dropped and she froze, staring up at Bucky with wide eyes full of sadness. Bucky immediately crouched down to reassure Darcy and join the petting session, much to Alpine’s enjoyment. “It’s okay. That was my reaction too. But Clint says Alpine was probably born deaf, it wasn’t trauma-related and it’s not something he’s ever experienced that he can miss it. And he can be totally happy without his hearing, there are just some things that we’ll be doing different from other doggy parents.”

He didn’t think he imagined Darcy blushing just a bit at him calling them ‘doggy parents.’ She smiled sheepishly and looked into Alpine’s eyes, petting his ears again. “Like making sure you can watch us like a creeper all the time? And not sneaking up on you?” She rolled her eyes and smiled at Bucky. “So how do we communicate with him? He heard the whistle.”

“Yep. Clint started teaching us Doggy Sign Language and Alpine was learning it pretty fast. We just need to get him to look at us and then use the signs as he learns them. Can you whistle?”

Darcy screwed up her face, then made a try at imitating Bucky’s whistle. Alpine jumped to attention, big eyes trained on Darcy. She grinned and petted him and kissed him, cooing praises at him. “Apparently, I can whistle well enough,” she said. “Huh. He probably doesn’t know I’m calling him a good boy right now, does he?”

Bucky smiled at that, looking down at Alpine eating up all of the love. “Nope. He likes the smiles and pets, though. He’s pretty good at reading people and eats up the love and happiness, obviously. Clint said we could teach him a thumb’s-up for ‘good boy’ if we want, or do food rewards…although knowing us that might land us with a blimp for a dog.”

Darcy laughed at that, big sparkly eyes meeting Bucky’s again. “Let’s work on the thumb’s-up. What did he learn today?”

“The whistle, obviously, and the pointing was to look where you point. And ‘here’ is opening your arms like you’re asking for a hug, he comes for that every time.” Darcy snickered and rolled her eyes at that. Bucky smiled and signed ‘B.’ “This is ASL for the letter ‘B’, which we started teaching him was my name. This is ‘D,’ so we can teach him yours the same way. And for his name, Clint suggested the ASL for ‘winter,’ which looks like this.” Bucky mimed pulling his arms in and his fists to his chest, then shivering. 

Darcy giggled. God, she was cute when she giggled. “I like that. That was adorable. And I suppose lots of people teach their dogs hand signals for ‘sit’ and ‘stay’ and whatever, so that won’t be hard.”

“Exactly. Clint got him hooked on pepperoni as a reward for training, so apparently we have to stock up on that, but he was doing really well.”

Darcy giggled again at that, then wrapped one arm around Alpine’s big chest to hug him and used her free hand to haul Bucky closer by his collar. She pressed a scorching kiss to his mouth, then said, “I’m so happy you talked to Clint and figured this out. We’ve got this, sweetie.”

Bucky smiled and blushed a bit at her words, but couldn’t deny being a little proud. Sure, Clint’s knowledge was mainly responsible for today’s success, but Bucky had invited Clint to the apartment, which hadn’t been easy, and Alpine was clever enough to pick up on the DSL quickly, which was amazing. They made a good team and Darcy was right. They had this. “Yeah, doll, we do.”

Bucky cooked up some taco meat using the unlabeled seasoning jar Francesca gave him for such tasks while Darcy changed her clothes, got out the rest of the fixings, then opened the small package that had been with the mail. At her squeal of delight, Bucky smiled and turned to watch her dance around the kitchen, a Roku box in hand. The smile became a grin and he leaned against the counter to watch her dance and punch the air a bit longer. When she’d slowed down enough to look at him with massive eyes and hold out the Roku meaningfully, Bucky asked, “So…who paid for that?”

“I did because I needed it shipped here,” Darcy said, settling something in Bucky’s chest with the easy logic. She really was thinking through all of this and it was such a relief. “BUT! The ex-fuckface was the one to pre-pay for a year’s worth of Netflix viewing that he doesn’t have the login info for or real contact info for or a way to get refunded. SO! You finish with dinner because I’m really enjoying the visual of you cooking for me and I will set this up so we can watch _The Witcher_.”

Bucky laughed and shook his head at that, but agreed with zero hesitation. Watching _The Witcher_ with Darcy had been on his bucket list since she made that joke half a lifetime ago. “Deal. But if you like me being all domestic, you should probably get me a sexy little apron. I’m kind of a disaster with my bum hand.”

Darcy ignored the reference to his hand in favor of focusing on the apron. She licked her lips, opening eyeing him up and picturing the result, then winked in that lascivious way he loved. “Only if you promise to wear _only_ the apron.”

He rolled his eyes at her, but couldn’t help a blush and a grin that made Darcy squeal as she scurried to the living room to hook up the Roku. Alpine followed her curiously and supervised, making Bucky smile again at that.

Francesca’s magic seasoning really did make a difference and they both inhaled several more tacos than they’d expected, Darcy volunteering to run to the kitchen to warm up more tortillas when they had just enough leftover meat to fill more. The upgraded tv situation was great too and when the second episode of _The Witcher_ ended and the third one immediately started playing, Darcy snuggled deeper into Bucky’s side and chuckled like a criminal mastermind. “This is so great. I should send Fuckface a gift basket. Ooh! _Actually_ …I’m pretty sure I could find a gift basket online made out of sex toys and have it sent to his desk. That would be great.”

Bucky busted out laughed at that, stirring Alpine beside him into grumbling and shifting his oddly-arranged limbs before passing back out. “Are you hoping to get him fired?”

Darcy grinned. “It would be hard for me to embarrass him at work if he got fired. And he’d start paying closer attention to his credit card charges. But then he’d find himself in dire financial straits, which I also like the sound of. It’s a win-win. You should really visit me at SI sometime so you can experience the technical side of this. Today, Skye used that malware on his laptop to change all of his passwords by one digit. We have a betting pool on how long it takes him to unlock everything.”

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Bucky said with a grin. “You are diabolical.”

“Thank you,” Darcy said airily, as if diabolical-ness were a perfectly obvious trait of hers that she was proud of. Bucky snorted.

They snuggled and watched quietly until Yennefer appeared on screen for the first time since her transformation. “I _love_ this scene,” Darcy said, a grin in her voice and her eyes glued to the show. “She’s such a badass now that she’s so confident.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “It helps that she’s insanely hot.”

“Pssh, you just have a thing for busty brunettes,” Darcy said, poking him gently in the ribs. She wasn’t wrong. “It’s her confidence! She had the drive and the magic before, but now she likes herself and believes in herself. That’s what makes her truly powerful.”

“I think I’d be that confident too if I knew how to bottle lightning,” Bucky said with a crooked grin.

Darcy gave him her best slow smile, the tip of her tongue just barely visible sliding over her lower lip. “With some of your skills, you could have fooled me.”

“My _skills_ , huh?” Bucky asked in his best teasing voice. “Which skills exactly?”

Darcy’s grin stretched a bit farther and she moved to straddle him and loop her arms over his shoulders. She nudged Alpine with her knee in the process, but all that earned her was a grumble and being otherwise ignored. She rolled her eyes. “Your dog is ridiculous. Yes, your _skills._ I have a particular fondness for your tongue.” She kissed him, lips already parted and tongue seeking his out. He grinned into the kiss and rewarded her enthusiasm, something proud and molten already bubbling in his chest. God, he could kiss Darcy all day for the rest of his life and it wouldn’t be enough. He loved how eager she was, how completely transparent she was about how much she enjoyed it and how much she cared for him. She knocked the breath right out of his lungs with her teasing tongue and he wound one hand into her dark curls and pressed the other to the small of her back, hauling her closer on his lap.

Yeah, he’d never get enough of this.

Darcy moaned into his mouth and he let her untangle herself enough to get her shirt off. Tonight, she was spilling out of a sheer lace bra, dark blue like her eyes. He bent his head and drew one nipple into his mouth without pushing the lace out of the way and got her to very nearly scream at the sensation. He chuckled into her skin and murmured, “Doll, as much as I appreciate the process of unwrapping you, you could go braless, like, always. That would be fine with me.”

Darcy whimpered and wound both hands into his hair, keeping him right where he was. He kept licking and sucking right through the lace, his hands firmly on her hips so every time she squirmed she ground her body against his. “When you have tits this big, bralessness is not always a great option. Oh, god! Mmm…I could be braless right now, though. I could be naked right now.”

Bucky chuckled again and felt her shudder at that sensation. “I think the lace is working in my favor right now, though.” He turned his attention to her other breast and sucked and licked and swirled his tongue, feeling like a god as she writhed in his arms and moaned. His body was entirely on board with where this was going and he could have happily started removing more clothes from both of them. First, though, he wanted to see if those skills she was so fond of were good enough to get her to come without even moving her bra out of the way.

They were.

As Darcy gasped for air and went liquid in his arms after, Bucky grinned and held her, feeling like a god. Darcy moaned into his neck and mumbled, “Oh my God. That just happened. See? You can totally bottle lightning with that tongue.”

He laughed, feeling better by the minute. “Does that mean you’re satisfied?”

Darcy abruptly sat upright, her massive eyes enough to start him laughing again. “Dude, I am _so_ fucking satisfied right now and I need you in me. Fingers, tongue, dick, some part of you. In me. Right now.”

His eyebrows shot up at the blatant proposition. It had been a while since Darcy last alluded to wanting actual sex, which they hadn’t done yet but not because he didn’t want it. He had suspected that the problem was him being incapable of initiating and her refusing to push, but in the darker moments of the last two weeks he’d wondered if she really wanted that. There was no exaggeration or joking in those eyes, though. She definitely wanted him. His dick throbbed with how badly he wanted her back, her sitting there on his lap strung out from her orgasm, looking at him with those big ocean-blue eyes telling him she wanted him. “Bed?”

“ _Yes,_ ” she moaned, already scrambling off of him. Bucky laughed at her rush and followed when she tugged on his right hand, leaving Alpine to grumble at them and go right back to sleep again. Darcy pulled him along behind her to the bedroom, her eyes big and molten with lust, that quirky little smile he’d fallen in love with that first night she saved him curving her red lips. He followed at her heels eagerly, never doubting this for a second. She wanted him. She loved him. She was everything he’d ever wanted, everything he’d ever needed, and she was his.

In the bedroom, Darcy helped him out of his shirt, then kissed him urgently, her hands working fast on her leggings while she sucked his brain right out through his tongue. Holy shit. He kissed back with the same desperation, eagerly getting lost in her as he rid her of her bra and got his hands full of her gorgeous breasts. Darcy moaned into his mouth at the touch and her hands began to shake where they touched him as she shoved off her panties and then began to tease at his waistband. 

Bucky dropped one hand to get ahold of that perfect ass and groaned. “Go ahead, doll,” he growled, hands and mouth not stopping. “My hands are a little busy.” He gave her nipple a light twist with his fingers and Darcy hissed a curse into his mouth, then scrambled to unzip his jeans and start shoving them down. He kept touching her, snickering into the kiss when something he did managed to distract her. But then she got his boxer-briefs down far enough that they dropped and his hard cock hit her belly and all teasing was over with. God, she was so warm and soft and he needed her. “You sure, doll?” he asked between kisses.

Darcy pulled back to break the kiss and look him in the eye. Her pupils were blown and her lips were swollen from kissing, tilted just a bit in that lazy smile he loved. “Bucky, I’ve been wanting that cock in me for weeks. I was waiting until you had the confidence to want me back.”

That sent his already pounding heart racing a bit faster and he grinned. “I’ve wanted you back for weeks, doll, but yeah, I didn’t know how to say that.”

Darcy blushed red and her smile turned shy. God, she looked so beautiful like that. He’d seen that expression on her only a handful of times and it always knocked him dead. Her hands slid soft and sweet up and down his ribs, coming to trace his hipbones. Unconsciously, he leaned a little further into her, pressing every inch of them together. When she spoke again, Darcy’s voice had dropped into that low bedroom voice her couldn’t get enough of. “Well, I’m glad you can say that now. Since we’ve spent about a week and a half too long thinking about this, I know exactly what I want to do first.”

Bucky snorted, but she wasn’t wrong. He pressed a kiss to her lips, then whispered against them, “What’s that, doll?”

He felt her smile stretch wide against his. “I was thinking about how you like being on top…and I thought that if I was on the bed…and you were standing…it would be like you being on top without the weight on your arm.”

Bucky pulled back to stare at her. She met his gaze, still blushing and smiling a little crookedly, and he let her see the overflowing adoration he felt for her. “I love you, Darcy,” he said.

Darcy giggled. “I love you too. Is that a ‘yes?’”

“That’s a ‘fuck, yes.’”

She giggled again and began backing up to the edge of the bed, hands on his hips bringing him with her. He followed her and helped her perch on the edge of the bed, got his hands on those thighs and wrapped them around his hips to pull her right up against him where he needed her. Darcy’s breath hitched at the contact and the kiss turned desperate, her lips pleading with him. He kept one hand on her thigh but the other dropped down between them, teasing her just the way she liked as she whimpered into his mouth. He slid one finger inside her and groaned at that hot wetness. She was dripping and he’d barely touched her. He added a second finger and Darcy whimpered again and rocked her hips to meet his hand and beg for more. He wanted her so badly his brain was barely functional, but he kept going with his hand for now. His dick was a lot bigger than two fingers and he was absolutely not going to hurt her, no matter how ready she seemed to be. When he pulled out and pushed back in with a third finger, one of Darcy’s hands on his shoulder twisted into a fist and she gasped. “Oh, fuck. Oh my god, Bucky, please…I need you, please….”

Those words were like bottled lightning in his veins. He kissed them right off her tongue and got both his hands on her hips, pulling her right to the edge of the bed and lining them up. As he pressed the head of his cock against her entrance, feeling that wet heat welcome him, he broke the kiss and just looked at her, needing to watch her face for this part. Darcy was gasping, those cherry-red lips parted and plump from kissing, those big blue eyes at half-mast, looking up at him through a veil of desire. She was so beautiful and so sweet and everything to him and _she wanted him_. Sliding into her felt like coming home and he watched her lips open into an ‘O’ and echoed her moan at that incredible pleasure rippling up his spine from where they joined. She was so wet and ready that he bottomed out in one slow slide, leaving them both gasping and shaking like that for a moment. Bucky was seeing stars it felt so fucking good, so tight and warm and like fucking lightning arcing along every nerve. When she caught her breath, Darcy whimpered, “Holy fuck…oh my God, Bucky…I love you. Oh please…fuck me.”

He kissed those words from her mouth too and groaned against her lips, “I love you too, Darce.” Then he gave her what she asked for, rocking his hips in and out, one hand on her ass to pull her tight to him with each thrust and the other sliding up her lovely chest to her breasts again. When he twisted her nipple just right, Darcy cried out and slumped back on the bed, stretched out in front of him like a pin-up, hair a tumble on the covers, chest heaving under his hand. The angle changed, welcoming him in deeper, and he groaned in pleasure, his right hand on her ass keeping her at just the right place to bury himself in her with every thrust. Darcy’s hands wound into the covers, knuckles white, and those eyes black with lust opened to watch him. Her lips parted again and she moaned and whispered his name amid curses and pleas and praises. Her eyes never strayed from raking up and down him, from his eyes watching her right back to his hands on her body to where they were joined. It was her watching him like that that brought him close to the edge faster than any physical touch could. “Fuck, doll,” he groaned. “Keep looking at me like that and this won’t last very long.”

Darcy grinned, slow and crooked, and that look was nearly enough to finish him. “Good. The second you come in me, I’m gonna come too.”

Those words did finish him. A jolt went from the base of his skull right down his spine to his cock and it was a fight to keep his eyes from rolling back in pleasure as he came harder than he had in years, filling her and watching her cry out and come right with him, just like she’d said. He groaned her name like a prayer and held her tight, reveling in every contraction of her muscles around him as she milked him dry.

As he came down, his shoulders sagged and his fingers tingled. God, when was the last time he’d come that hard? Had he ever? Darcy chuckled, sounding supremely satisfied, and her fingers trailed along his hip. “Come here.”

One corner of his mouth curled upward and he allowed himself to slump forward, still buried in her and now draped across her chest with his face buried in her neck. Darcy sighed and wrapped her arms around him, holding him right where he was. “I’m not crushing you, am I?” he mumbled into her skin.

“Nope. Stay right there,” she said. Her fingers trailed in lazy patterns over his back, soothing him. He breathed a sigh of relief and cradled her in his arms. She was so soft and warm, so safe.

“I love you, doll,” he whispered to her.

Darcy pressed a kiss to his hair and he could hear the joy in her voice as she whispered back, “I love you too. We should do that again sometime.”

Bucky grinned. “Sign me up.”


	17. Paying It Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I somehow forgot in my excitement over posting chapter sixteen to thank you then, I will thank you now! THANK YOU SO MUCH to Agent_741920 for the extremely helpful conversation on life with a deaf doggo. Your training tips and behavioral insight have been so valuable and I have plans to continue incorporating them into Alpine's scenes moving forward.
> 
> This chapter materialized right after I posted sixteen because I was so excited about posting again. I'm glad I waited until now to upload it, though, because at the last minute I added a slice of karma to the end. Mwahaha...I forget who recommended this particular unfortunate event to befall Brock, but I appreciate you so much for making this scene happen. Remember that I'm totally keeping a running list of bad shit to have happen to Brock Rumlow based on your lovely comments. I'm considering a companion fic when I finish this one that will literally be several chapters detailing the various alternate ways Brock could have met his doom, so if you have any particularly humorous or grotesque ideas for that, I'll find a way to make that happen for you. And yes, you can assume from how I worded that that Brock Rumlow will not be surviving this fic, folks. Bucky may be feeling too unsure of himself to order a killshot or commit murder right now, but that will not always be the case. Nobody messes with the Winter Soldier and lives to tell the tale. ;)

Darcy sank into her chair at Stark Industries on Friday morning with a pained groan that instantly had her smirking. Apparently, it was enough to attract Jane’s attention from what was clearly the morning after an all-night Science Bender, as she looked up sharply at Darcy in concern. “Are you okay?” Before Darcy could think up a reply, too busy grinning like an idiot to think in straight lines, Jane’s eyes popped in understanding. “Holy shit. You got laid. Hard.”

Jane had been pretty deep into her Science Bender already yesterday and before yesterday, Darcy had been grinning like an idiot twenty-four-seven, but not quite this pleasantly sore. She was pretty sure that she’d had more sex in the last sixty hours than she had in her most recent previous relationship, a six-month venture with Ian Boothby that had been thoroughly disappointing. Darcy smirked like the cat that got the cream, thinking back to a few highlights from last night (and this morning) that had left her struggling to walk straight today. “Um, yeah. All it took was a little confidence-building and suddenly I have a sex god in my bed.”

Jane grinned. “That is fantastic. Details! Come on, I haven’t seen Thor in _days._ ”

“Janey, you haven’t seen Thor in days because you haven’t gone home in days,” Darcy pointed out, giving her friend her best mother hen side-eye. Jane twisted her mouth in begrudging acknowledgment. “Yeah. Thor’s on his way to pick you up, I texted him when I walked in and saw you still here in Wednesday’s outfit. But, yes! Bucky is a sex god. We banged for the first time on Tuesday night and in the two and a half days since, he started working out again, went shooting with Peter, got to therapy on time for the first time ever, went to the pet store to buy a harness and leash for Alpine and started taking Alpine on actual walks around the neighborhood, let me make an appointment for him with Dr. Cho for today, and gave me more orgasms than I have fingers and toes. It’s kind of blowing my mind.”

A crooked smile settled on Jane’s sleep-deprived face. “Oh my god, you’re so lucky. I’m so happy for you! I’d be stupid jealous except that I have a sex god of my own that I also acquired by nursing him back to health.” Darcy had to work hard to suppress laughter at the memory of their first meeting with Thor, when Jane had accidentally hit him with her car and he’d been so out of it and weird that Darcy tased him. Jane’s eyes went wide with an Idea. “You know, you should do some public speaking. Tell the single women of the world your success story and see how fast all those homeless guys get rescued off the streets.”

Darcy rolled her eyes, but smiled regardless. “Pretty sure I got lucky and found the sweetest puppy of a guy on said streets, but I like the idea.” Her phone buzzed in her back pocket and she checked it. “Thor’s here. Go downstairs or he’s coming to retrieve you.”

Jane rolled her bloodshot eyes, but her smile didn’t drop. “Fine. Let me just finish uploading my data and…”

“Nope!” Darcy said, jumping out of her seat and shoving at Jane until she stood and began shuffling towards her coat and the lab door. “Go home! Your Viking god of sex and social awkwardness awaits! Get!”

Jane protested a bit, but being separated from her Science for a few minutes had allowed some of the sleep deprivation to catch up with her and Darcy managed to pour her into the elevator without too much difficulty.

Darcy spent the morning figuring out what the hell Jane had been doing all night, then uploading her data and beginning the report-processing stage. Her phone alerted her forty-five minutes before Bucky’s appointment with Dr. Cho and she sent him a text to check in and make sure he was still doing good and would be on his way soon. He’d been in high spirits when she left that morning, but that may have had something to do with the blowjob she’d given him or the ridiculous look Alpine got when he was waiting impatiently for his breakfast pumpkin pie. She breathed a sigh of relief when he replied less than a minute later that he was nervous, but about to head out and planning to be on time.

_Darcy: You know, no one would argue if you showed up here with Alpine…just saying._

_Bucky: Really?_

_Darcy: Um, YES. You said he’s been walking well and everyone here will just fawn over how ridiculously handsome the two of you are. If he helps you feel less nervous, you should totally bring him._

_Bucky: Apparently he remembers ‘walk.’ He just did a cartwheel off the couch and ran for his harness. Guess he’s coming with. :)_

_Darcy: Yay!!!_

Darcy grinned, picturing Bucky doing the ‘walk’ signal he’d been teaching Alpine and Alpine’s reaction. This was going to be so great. She knew Bucky got anxious being out of the apartment and he’d told her about his struggles to get to therapy. Hadn’t he said Clint trained PTSD dogs? Maybe they could train Alpine as his service dog and Alpine could go with him everywhere. It might limit his ability to get a cab, but he only chose cabs over the subway because of the hypervigilance and if Alpine could help with that…yeah this was a good idea. She’d see how Alpine did today at the appointment and then pitch it to Bucky.

Darcy almost always walked to get to SI and knew how long it should take Bucky, so she was waiting in the lobby five minutes before she expected him, just in case. He and Alpine walked through the big glass doors right when she’d calculated, which meant that Alpine had succeeded in getting Bucky out of the building without any angsting by the front door. Bucky’s eyes were all for her, a hesitant half-smile curving that mouth, but Darcy got a kick out of watching every single head in the lobby turn to stare at him and Alpine. They really were both ridiculously handsome. Bucky was wearing his favorite skinny jeans that made her want to climb him like a tree with a battered leather jacket and the bruises had completely disappeared from his face a few days ago, leaving nothing to detract from his stunning bone structure and drop-dead-gorgeous blue-grey eyes. And now that Alpine had put on some weight and his stitches had dissolved, he was the most dapper dog she’d ever seen with those big black eyes, that wide doggy grin, the spotless white coat, and his US Army sweatshirt that fit him just right over his harness. Together they were a force of nature. The receptionists at the front desk were actually blushing and whispering to each other watching her guys and Darcy glowed with pride as Bucky stepped right up to her and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Hey, doll.”

“Hey, handsome,” she said, grinning and stealing a longer kiss right on the mouth. Bucky chuckled at her and Alpine whined and leaned into her leg hard enough to nearly tumble her over. “Okay, okay, you’re handsome too!” she said, bending down to rub Alpine’s big head and kiss his silly nose. She shot a teasing look at Bucky. “I think the girls at the desk collectively ovulated when you walked past. I still want to see you play your phone number game someday.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and grinned indulgently. “Well, there’s only one girl I’m interested in impressing and I already have her number.”

Darcy stood and kissed him one more time because she couldn’t resist. “And she’s definitely impressed. You ready for this?”

Bucky sighed. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

They got into the elevator and Darcy scanned her badge for Dr. Cho’s floor. The elevator began to climb and Bucky took a shaky breath. She laced her fingers into his and squeezed gently. He gave her a wry almost-smile and squeezed back. Alpine sat by his feet and leaned against him, prompting him to smile a little more and pet the dog’s head. Yeah, Alpine was a born service dog, for sure.

Darcy hadn’t been to Dr. Cho’s lab before. It was brighter and far less cluttered than Jane’s astrophys lab or Tony’s R&D lab and mercifully warm, unlike the webtech and biotech labs where Skye and FitzSimmons worked. There weren’t many people milling around here, but they all looked busy and happy to be busy. Darcy scanned them into the lab proper, moving slowly as she listened to Bucky grinding his teeth at her side.

As they entered, a pretty young woman with raven-black hair looked up from a file and grinned. She closed the file and started towards them. “You must be Bucky and Darcy. I’m Helen Cho.”

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Cho,” Darcy said. She had a feeling that Bucky was choking on anything that might be called small talk right now, so she would handle that until he relaxed a bit. “I hope it’s okay that Alpine came with. He’s practicing his manners.”

Alpine, because he was perfect, was sitting practically on Bucky’s foot, leaning into him and grinning cheerfully at Dr. Cho, looking nothing like a dog that needed to ‘practice’ manners. Dr. Cho melted and reached out to let Alpine lick her hand, cooing nonsense at him about how handsome he was. Darcy shot a smirk at Bucky over the woman’s head and Bucky smiled a bit, visibly relaxing a hair.

When Dr. Cho was done fawning over Alpine, she straightened and turned a radiant smile on Bucky. “So! I understand you’re here as a practical consultant for a new scar tissue treatment project we’re starting up. Tony and I are so excited to have you working with us.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up and Darcy made a mental note to bake Tony some brownies to go with the afghan she was working on. “Um…yeah. I mean…the last year’s been a bit of a nightmare for me and if we can do something so other guys don’t have to go through that…that’s what I want.”

Dr. Cho nodded, still smiling, and waved them to follow her as she began walking further into the lab. “I was sorry to hear you’ve had a rough go of it. SI has an entire legal division that works full-time harassing insurance companies and healthcare lobbyists trying to fix the system that lets cases like yours slip through the cracks. There’s absolutely no reason why anyone, let alone a veteran, should have been left with scar tissue so bad it interferes with their daily life a year later, not in a country with the kind of medical capabilities we do. Our goal with this project will be to develop practices that VA hospitals and other facilities can easily and inexpensively implement to prevent cases like yours, as well as treatments for patients already in situations like yours. This is our treatment area.” 

She led them into a large, bright room that resembled an elite hospital room, if hospitals were designed by Tony Stark. Darcy and Bucky both stood in the doorway blinking at the large space, the comfortable-looking treatment table and chairs, and the unimaginably advanced-looking equipment. Dr. Cho proceeded as if this were exactly what they should have expected. “All of our conversations, scans, and treatments will occur here. We’ll make appointments based on the treatment schedule we put together today, but I’d also like you to feel welcome to stop by for a fresh scan any time you’re having a particularly good or bad day, pain wise. Those scans would provide useful information to us. Whenever you want to do that, just drop in and Darcy can get you into the lab. Any of my technicians can run the scans if I’m unavailable. If it’s alright with you, I’d like to start with an exam and some baseline scans so we know what we’re working with.”

Bucky cringed, but took a fortifying breath and nodded his agreement. Darcy squeezed his hand and he returned the gesture, then they entered the treatment area. Darcy shut the door behind them and the glass walls automatically frosted to provide some privacy. Dr. Cho gestured to the treatment table and Bucky took another shaky breath before sitting on the very edge of it and slowly peeling off his jacket. Alpine stuck tight to his leg even when he dropped the leash and sat on the table, his big head pressed to Bucky’s knee while his black eyes soaked up the room, tracking Dr. Cho and Darcy constantly. Yeah, Darcy was totally nominating him for service dog training. She took Bucky’s jacket from him and stood close by in case he needed her while he pulled his shirt over his head, one-handed like he did when he was in pain or trying to avoid pain. She’d been massaging his scars two or three times a day and she knew he’d taken ibuprofen this morning, so her stomach sank at the thought that he was expecting an exam of the scars to involve pain. Sam had been rattling every cage at the Brooklyn VA and Walter Reed and she really hoped one of Bucky’s crappy doctors got fired over this.

Dr. Cho tsked at the scars and pulled on gloves, approaching slowly with sharp eyes mapping Bucky’s scars. “This is why Stark hates pays taxes,” she mumbled to herself. Without raising her eyes, she asked Bucky, “How’s the pain right now? Zero being nonexistent, ten being the worst day you’ve had since the last surgery?”

“Two,” he said, his voice tight.

“Any pain medication on board?”

“A dose of ibuprofen four hours ago. And the scar cream.”

Dr. Cho nodded, eyes still peering right through Bucky’s skin. “Darcy sent me a link to the cream you’ve been using. That was a very good idea. Has it been helpful?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

“Good.” Dr. Cho tipped her head to look at Bucky’s arm from another angle, then asked, “Is it okay if I touch?”

Bucky swallowed hard, his eyes starting to glaze. Ugh, those fucking VA doctors. Darcy moved to his right side and took his hand in both of hers. He swallowed again, then nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Dr. Cho stilled at his obvious discomfort and finally looked at his face again. It took him a moment to meet her gaze and she waited until he did to speak. “I want you to tell me any time something I do changes your pain level. That’s very important. All you have to say is a number for the level you’re at, okay? I can’t promise no pain, but I’m not interested in doing anything worse than a five. I just want to get an idea for where our priorities are.”

Bucky nodded stiffly and Dr. Cho returned her focus to the scars. Darcy chewed her lip, not liking this one bit and especially not liking how hard Bucky was squeezing her hand when the rest of him was completely still and compliant. Nope, not good. She should really pack up her stuff after this and work from home so he wouldn’t be alone with wherever his mind had just gone. Dr. Cho moved very slowly and Darcy watched her like a hawk, measuring with her eyes exactly how hard she pressed her fingers against Bucky’s skin. Bucky tensed at the initial touch and remained in that stone-like position, his jaw clenched so hard Darcy was a bit worried about his teeth shattering. She could see that Dr. Cho was barely exerting any pressure and was at his forearm right now, which wasn’t one of the worst spots, but this really didn’t look good. “Hey,” she murmured to Bucky, pressing a kiss to his right shoulder. “Still with us?”

Bucky nodded once, but his eyes were totally glazed. Yeah, no. Darcy squeezed his hand hard and said, “Bucky. I need a number from you.”

He swallowed like he was choking on nails, but he blinked and his eyes were a little less distant. “Three,” he whispered.

“You still good with this? Just say ‘no’ and we’ll stop and you can have your shirt back.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, you’re good?”

He nodded once and his face twisted in that way that meant he was trying not to cry. Darcy’s heart fucking broke and she kept one hand on his but laid the other on his cheek. Bucky opened his eyes and he was fully present again, his eyes welling with tears that weren’t quite falling. “I’m good, doll. Thanks.”

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’m going to keep annoying you, though. What’s your number now?”

“Still three.”

Helen was prodding at his hand now, which sometimes locked up on bad days, so a three was a good sign. Darcy nodded. “Okay. You’re doing good, sweetie. Just stay with me, alright? Nothing bad’s going to happen while I’m here. And Alpine, too. I think you should train him as a service dog.”

Bucky snorted at that and dropped his eyes to Alpine, who had laid his head on Bucky’s knee to better stare at him. “That’s not a bad idea. He seems to have a knack for this.”

“Kind of makes sense. He basically lives his life constantly watching you and reading your moods anyway.”

Bucky snorted again and one corner of his mouth curled up a little. Darcy resisted the urge to pump a fist in victory. “Yeah, that kind of sums up his life. That and sleeping.”

“Exactly. What’s your number now?”

“Still three.” Dr. Cho’s fingers moved an inch up his bicep, palpitating that nasty spot where a chunk of his muscle was missing, and Bucky grimaced. “Four now.”

Dr. Cho hummed to herself, still prodding at the indentation. “We do tissue regeneration here that would help with this spot. We’d take a biopsy of the nearest healthy muscle cells, clone them, and perform a minor surgery to integrate them in to fill this gap. Minimally invasive and no risk of rejection since it would be your own cells. Recovery time to it looking and behaving like a normal bicep would be a month.”

Bucky’s eyes popped and he looked down at Dr. Cho. Darcy was staring at her in open-mouthed amazement too. “That’s insane,” Bucky said. “You can really clone my arm muscle to fill that spot in?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Dr. Cho said, prodding at his shoulder now. “A small part of a bicep would be easy compared with the piece of Tony’s heart I regrew last year. The idiot had been using a glorified magnet to keep a bit of shrapnel from killing him until I realized what he considered to be an acceptable standard for his own health and stepped in. He’s training for a marathon now.”

“I didn’t know that about him,” Darcy said, stunned. Since when had Tony had shrapnel in his chest? Since when had he been anywhere to _get_ shrapnel in his chest? Either he’d done it himself by accident playing in R&D or it had been there since he was injured and kidnapped in Afghanistan five years ago.

Dr. Cho made an exasperated noise in her throat, hands moving to Bucky’s collarbone area, then back to the shoulder socket. “The scarring around here is what’s limiting a lot of your movement. We might be able to clean that out and replace it the same way we’d replace the tissue in your bicep. More intensive procedure because it includes removal first, but same success rate as the bicep. Six weeks recovery, max. Tony prefers to focus on other peoples’ problems rather than his own. He’s selfless to a fault, which is rather ironic when you look at the playboy billionaire image he likes to project. Don’t ask him about the shrapnel or the new heart, he hates talking about it. What’s your number, Bucky?”

“Three.”

Her hands floated over his pectorals and down to the scarring on his ribs. Bucky flinched. “Back to four?”

“Yep.”

“That’s to do with how little flesh is between those scars and your rib bones. One of the most painful places on the human body to get a tattoo or a bruise and definitely a bad spot for scar tissue. If you’re not feeling surgery, a combination of that scar cream and slowly rebuilding your muscle and gaining a bit of weight will eventually correct this area in terms of pain and mobility, probably within nine months. You have to go slow with it, though, and accept that that’s your timeline, no sit-ups until your muscles seize because you’re feeling impatient. We can do corrective surgery instead, pulling out the worst of the scar tissue and letting your body heal itself properly, no cloning. That would cut full recovery time in about half. I don’t think the cloning technology is necessary here since it is very fixable without that extra trouble, but we certainly can.”

Bucky shrugged his right shoulder, eyes on Dr. Cho’s hands on his ribs. “If that part of me was normal in nine months, I’d be ecstatic. Four and a half months and I’d be over the moon. Besides, if this is really for a project to try and get better care to VA hospitals, we should be doing things that are more accessible to them than cloning, right?”

Dr. Cho met his eyes and smiled. “If you don’t mind being patient, you’re absolutely right. In fact, since you have several different levels of severity in your scarring, we could use several different treatments in different spots to compare methods and develop recommended treatments for each level of severity.”

“Triage.”

“Exactly. The cloning, for example, would be of use to people in situations like yours or people who have just sustained the trauma but have lost significant tissue mass. But in most cases, properly conducted traditional repair or correction would suffice. I’d also like to know how serious a case we can treat without surgery and what the timeline is on that. As much as I’d like our tax dollars or insurance companies to cover what they call cosmetic operations like this, that’s not a realistic short-term expectation and it would be helpful for us to develop a treatment plan for less severe cases that involves no surgery at all.”

“I like that,” Bucky said. Darcy smiled, noting how animated he was starting to get and that he’d stopped squeezing her hand. “My initial surgery was in Afghanistan and they flew me in pieces to Germany for more, then to Walter Reed for the rest. Even if I could have afforded it, I wasn’t interested in more surgery after that and the damage was already done to some degree.”

Dr. Cho nodded understandingly. “Your story is certainly not unique. Yes, I like the idea of working several different treatments with you. That would give us a lot of information to work with. Let’s get some scans for tissue mass and inflammation and then we’ll talk about a plan.”

Bucky was far enough out of his shell by then that the scans were a breeze, which was great because Darcy had worried that that would be the hard part. Afterward, Bucky pulled his shirt back on and Dr. Cho pulled the scans up out of nowhere on the frosted glass wall. A touch of her finger allowed her to draw on the scans and note areas where the tissue was abnormally dense from scarring or where the nerve-endings were firing with inflammation. Unsurprisingly, those areas matched up more often than not. Notes made, Dr. Cho tapped on the screen to change the color she was writing in, then marked out Bucky’s hand, forearm, bicep, shoulder, and ribs. She numbered them all one through five in order of severity, then began making notes beside the scans to detail what the numbers meant. 

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Dr. Cho said. “Your forearm seems to be causing you the least day-to-day trouble and would be a good spot to treat with only the scar cream, no other correction. The ribs we can do with traditional corrective surgery. The bicep we fill in with cloned cells. The hand we fill in with cloned cells and then do physical therapy. The shoulder we cut out the bad tissue, replace it with cloned tissue, and then do physical therapy. Recovery to what someone might call normal human baseline ranges from one month for the bicep to nine months for the forearm and the physical therapy components. The ribs will recover around three months. Our result will be five different treatment options for five different cases. I’ll get in touch with the manufacturer of the cream you’re using, see if they want to contribute to the research process or pitching the treatments to our future clients. I’d expect them to be very excited and helpful and they will probably jump at a chance to put their product or similar products on shelves in VA hospitals and physical therapy centers throughout the country. The traditional surgery and treatment procedures are a compliance issue that SI’s legal division will be happy to push to their friends in D.C. The cloning is expensive, but if SI’s PR department can trot out a solid campaign, which they always do, I’m confident we can find the right donors to put this technology at Walter Reed at least for the most severe cases. Health insurance and government benefits won’t cover it, not yet, but the Maria Stark Foundation already has a board in place that handles requests for coverage of major medical expenses like this on a case-by-case basis. We could put something similar in place for this where patients in situations like yours can apply for the treatment and have it be covered by our donors.”

“Guys like me don’t like hand-outs,” Bucky pointed out. “They won’t apply.”

Darcy elbowed him, already rolling her eyes. “No, but their loved ones will on their behalf. Plus, everyone in the medical community is going to be so excited about this that doctors and physical therapists all over the country are going to be referring cases to the program. You guys aren’t as forgotten as you think.”

Bucky smiled and ducked his head to hide a blush. His hand found hers and wound their fingers together, squeezing while Darcy grinned.

“She’s absolutely right,” Dr. Cho said with a smile of her own. “Every day, the Maria Stark Foundation receives hundreds of requests for financial aid from the families of veterans. We help as many as we can as much as we can, which is quite a bit, but a project like this would bring the kind of attention that generates a lot of donations and a lot of requests from patients. This is going to be huge, Bucky.”

Bucky blushed a little redder and smiled a little wider. Darcy squeezed his hand, her heart fit to burst. When Bucky looked up at her and bit his lip, her smile only grew. “Stop looking at me like that, doll.”

“Why? You’re amazing. Think of all those guys you’re going to help!” When he dropped his head again, hiding his blush, Darcy grinned and added, “Also, I’m really looking forward to nine months from now when you’re throwing me around my bedroom.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up and he met her gaze with a sniper’s calculating smirk. “That sounds like fun.”

\--------------- _earlier that morning_ \---------------

Brock stared at his car in disbelief. He knew neighbors who’d had their cars smashed and gutted by the local gangs, obviously, but that was why he’d bought a new car last year with the fancy keypad security system and the alert in his phone that would go off if anything was damaged.

So how the fuck was it possible that his car, which had _never_ been touched and had been worth six figures when he bought it, was now on _blocks_ because the wheels had been stolen right off of it? How was it possible that the dash had been _gutted_ , the gang having taken all of the car’s computer components, including the Bose sound system?

“What the fuck?” he said on a stunned exhale. His keys dropped from his hand and hit the pavement with a _tinkle._ Either his own voice or the keys dropping made this more real and he stepped forward to see a note on the dash. In block letters, someone had left a message. 

_HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE TRAPPED AT HOME?_

_HOW DOES IT FEEL TO KNOW THAT YOU’RE NOT SAFE IN THE HOME YOU’RE TRAPPED IN?_

_BECAUSE YOU’RE NOT. THE MOMENT HE GIVES THE WORD, I’M PUTTING A BULLET BETWEEN YOUR EYES._

_P.S. MY BATHROOM IS WALLPAPERED WITH YOUR UNCONSCIOUS SOCK-STUFFED FACE. I FIND IT SOOTHING. IT REMINDS ME THAT KARMA EXISTS AND THAT SOMETIMES I GET TO HELP IT ALONG. SLEEP WELL._

Brock dropped the note to the dash like it was on fire and spun, looking everywhere around him as if he could see one of Bucky’s friends perched somewhere with a bead on him. “Holy fuck,” he breathed. There was no one, though, and the anger overtook the fear and humiliation again in a moment. Into the street, he roared, “If that little shit doesn’t want me dead, then that’s his fucking mistake and he’s going to regret it! When I get my hands on him, and I _fucking will_ , I’m going to punish him in all the worst ways I can think of for what you fuckers have done to me! _DO YOU HEAR ME?!"_

If they did, they didn’t respond.

Brock flushed and kicked at his useless car in frustration. Knowing Bucky’s asshole friends, there wasn’t anyone watching him and never had been. They preferred to play their games from a distance. If he could figure out who the fuck they were, he’d take the fight to them, but Bucky had always used nicknames to talk about his platoon and Brock had made too many waves at Hydra to pull strings there for information. He’d find them eventually, though, and when he did, they’d pay.

\---------------

Peter whistled a tune with renewed cheer as he walked down the Brooklyn street, guitar case slung over one shoulder, scarf and beanie keeping him warm despite the frigid February air. He was never going to stand outside in a New York winter and not think of Bucky freezing to death on a street. Never.

But, as he passed an alley and tossed a grin to one of the local troublemakers, he was feeling pretty good about his piece of the karma pie. The kids all turned to watch him walk past with all of the respect and awe they never would have dealt anyone else who looked like him. One called out, “Thanks for the keycode, man! Got anything else for us?”

Peter paused, then smirked and answered, “Maybe. You know the guy who owns that car?”

One of the kids snorted. “Everyone knows that dickhead.”

“If you notice him poking around the buildings near here like he’s looking for me, shoot me a text. Or if he leaves the neighborhood looking especially murderous and confident. I’ll Venmo you a hundred bucks for every useful tip.”

Eight eager grins looked back at him and a few of them began pushing at each other, insisting that they pass around Peter’s phone number so that they’d all have a fair shot at the reward. The first kid who’d called to him nodded slowly, smiling like Peter’s new best friend. “You got it, man. And if you ever need help ruining that guy’s day, you know where to find us.”

Peter shot him a shark-like grin of his own and mimed tipping his hat, then continued on his way to Stark Industries. Yeah, karma was great. Especially when he got to watch it play out through his scope.


	18. All of These Amazing People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot totally caught up with me this chapter like, "Let's do this, and this, and this, and we can totally fit in this...." A lot of moments you guys have been waiting for have finally arrived!

After the appointment with Dr. Cho, Darcy had offered to collect her work and come home with him, but as much as Bucky appreciated the offer, he wasn’t feeling too bad and he had promised Peter he’d stop by R&D while he was in the building. Darcy seemed to like that answer and made him promise to come up to the astrophysics lab before he and Alpine left, then escorted them to R&D.

The R&D floor Darcy brought them to, apparently one of several, was busy with people and overflowing with heavy-laden work benches. There appeared to be a dozen different projects in the works, all looking like they were straight out of a science fiction novel. Darcy walked him into the lab, scanning her badge to get them through, then led him between the work areas to an overflowing desk and a very focused Peter Parker. She leaned a hip against his desk and smirked. “Hey, Murder Hipster.”

Peter jolted, then his face broke into a wide grin upon seeing them. There was a twinkle in his eyes that made Bucky wonder what he’d been up to recently. Something murder, if he had to guess. “Hey, guys! How’d it go with Dr. Cho?”

“Really good,” Bucky said. Alpine was leaning heavily on him, his eyes darting around the busy room anxiously. Bucky dropped a hand to his head and that seemed to soothe him a bit, but he still looked overwhelmed. _Yeah, me too, buddy._ “She thinks she can have me at ‘normal human baseline’ in nine months and roll out the treatments to the VA next year.”

“That’s amazing! Also, _you have an adorable puppy_! Introduce me!”

Darcy snorted and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s cheek. “Come see me when you’re done playing, kay?”

“Thanks, doll,” he said, hoping the insufficient words could convey everything he felt. When Dr. Cho had first started poking at him, he’d been ready to go right off the deep end. Darcy had seen that and turned him right around and he hoped she knew what that meant to him.

Judging by her blush and soft smile, she got the message. “Sure. See you guys later.”

When Darcy had gone, Bucky introduced Alpine to Peter. The two of them got along great, which was no surprise because Alpine got along great with everyone and Peter was more of a soft touch than Bucky. In minutes, Alpine had gotten so comfortable with Peter that he’d curled up in the dark corner under his desk to relax away from the scary sights of the R&D lab. Bucky and Peter talked about the appointment with Dr. Cho, then Peter’s engineering classes, and finally Bucky’s rifle, which he’d allowed Peter to borrow for brainstorming after their less than stellar shooting adventure yesterday.

“I came up with an idea for the grip so you can hold it easier,” Peter said, flipping through his sketchbook to the idea in question. He turned it to show Bucky. “You’d still have the problem of either the weight or leaning on your left arm, though. Personally, after what you just told me about your appointment with Cho, I’d be inclined to leave your rifle intact and play around with a different weapon entirely until you’re back in shape to use this one as it is.”

Bucky kind of agreed with him. He missed shooting and yesterday had been an absolute disaster with him either shaking too badly to hit a target at all or gritting his teeth in pain because of the pressure he was putting on his arm. But if Dr. Cho thought he’d be at ‘human baseline’ in only nine months, he really loved his rifle exactly as it was. “Do you have another weapon in mind? There aren’t many out there that can cover the same distance.”

Peter smirked mischievously. “There aren’t many _on the market_ that can cover that distance. But just because SI doesn’t sell weapons anymore doesn’t mean we don’t like to play with them.”

He pulled up a slew of design files on his computer and flipped through them, talking a mile a minute about specs, materials, and custom ammunition. The conversation had Bucky feeling more like Sergeant Barnes than he had since he’d been blown up. He met Peter’s enthusiasm with his own and they bounced ideas back and forth about the various designs, comparing them and debating adjustments that could make them smaller, lighter, or deadlier.

They’d utterly lost track of time when out of nowhere a voice was calling, “Parker! Oi, Parker, I thought you were working on thrusters today, why are you in my weapons file?”

Bucky and Peter both froze and looked up, watching Tony Stark himself hurry through the R&D floor to them. Billionaire genius Tony Stark, who was always in a very expensive suit when Bucky saw him on tv, was currently in a rumpled Metallica t-shirt with wild hair, wilder eyes, and a pair of odd-looking goggles resting crookedly on top of his head like he’d forgotten them there. Tony raised an eyebrow in confusion at Bucky, who continued to openly stare, then turned his attention to the design files Peter had open. “S-sorry, Mr. S-stark sir,” Peter stammered. “Bucky was just dropping by and we got to talking about rifles…”

Tony looked at Bucky again with a grin of pleased recognition. “Your existence in Darcy’s life has made my life so entertaining. Thank you.” Bucky blinked, still in shock at the situation. Tony turned back to the designs and waved his hand at Peter. “Well? What’d you come up with?”

Peter scrambled to show Tony his sketchbook that they’d been drawing and making notes in. “Well, we liked the handling of the X-978, but we’d redesign it to fire my Spider rounds. The goal is a sniper rifle with the range of a 50cal in a much smaller, lighter weapon. It would still take a really good sniper to fire it with any accuracy, but the Spider rounds would make a big difference making up for the distance capabilities of the smaller weapon.”

Tony’s eyes darted wildly over the notes and drawing, seemingly running calculations in his head. He nodded once, looked between Peter and Bucky, then settled on Bucky. He pointed at the sketchbook. “He’s doing this for your arm, right? How much of this stuff was your idea?”

Bucky blinked at him, a little stunned that a billionaire genius who was already paying him to let SI’s lead doctor fix his arm also cared about his sniper brain. “Um…obviously, he came up with the Spider rounds years ago while we were in Afghanistan and he built the first batch when he was home between tours. With the weapon design we were kind of bouncing off of each other. I picked the material based on weight and I ran the distance calculations to gauge accuracy. He ran the calculations for recoil and adjusted my numbers for the Spider rounds. He was always better at math, but I’ve shot more people and I have the bum arm.”

Tony thought that over for a very quiet second, then nodded decisively and clapped Bucky on the right shoulder. “Nice interview. HR’s on the third floor, they’ll have your paperwork ready by the time you head out today. See you Monday?”

Bucky blinked, feeling like he had whiplash. “Um…what?”

“I’m hiring you,” Tony said, as if that were obvious. “You’re going to build this,” he pointed at the sketchbook, “And then you’re going to build a whole bunch of other awesome shit that makes life easier for people with bum arms or bum legs or whatever else. And I’m going to pay you a lot of money to do it on top of your contractor’s fee for your stuff with Helen, which this will not interfere with unless you can somehow magically combine them. Parker’s going to work with you. Congrats on the promotion, Parker. Deal?”

Bucky stared at the offered hand for a moment in shock, then shrugged in amazement and shook on it. “Um…deal. Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

Tony hurried off, calling back over his shoulder as he went, “Unless you want to be Mr. Barnes, you’d better not call me Mr. Stark anymore. You can call me Tony or Iron Man. That’s my stripper name.”

Before Bucky had the chance to dig up a response to _that_ , Tony had blown out of the room like a tornado. Bucky looked to Peter, who was staring at him and grinning like he’d just won the lottery. “So, um, congrats on the new job and thank you for getting me promoted by, like, four rungs on the R&D ladder. Looking forward to working with you again, Winter.”

Bucky started laughing, a little bit in shock and a lot happy at how ridiculously great this day was. Peter started laughing with him and they couldn’t stop. “Holy shit,” Bucky said between bouts of laughter. “We’re working together again. Holy shit, I have a job. Pete, I have a _job._ At _Stark Industries._ ”

Peter cracked up and Alpine crawled out from under the desk to dance around them, looking to be let in on the joke. Bucky crouched down to pet and hug the dog, still laughing while Alpine grinned happily at him.

“Hey!” Peter said. “Since we can both suddenly afford to go out, want to celebrate tonight? We can see if any of the Howlies are in town and you can bring Darcy, obviously. And Steve, Sam, and Hawkeye if you want. I need to meet them. Darcy could invite Jane and Thor. They’re awesome.”

“Yeah, let’s do that. Hey…what exactly does Tony think ‘a lot of money is?’”

Peter shook his head, eyes huge. “I don’t know, but he’s paying me twenty-five bucks an hour as an intern.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped.

\--------------

Darcy did not invite Jane and Thor because Jane had apparently not slept in the last three days and Darcy and Thor had zero intention of allowing her to go anywhere for at least twenty-four hours. Everyone else was on board, though, at least everyone who was in New York. 

After Bucky dropped Alpine at the apartment for the afternoon nap he’d missed, he met Peter and Darcy at the bar they’d chosen. Sam arrived shortly thereafter and was ecstatic to meet Peter, who he’d heard so much about. They ordered deep-fried food and then added a couple pizzas to the tab when Dernier and Dugan, who’d been hanging around New York since their adventure at Brock’s, arrived and ate every last scrap of food on the table. When Steve and Clint arrived, Clint immediately squeezed himself in next to Sam and dove for pizza, introducing himself through a full mouth and earning himself a shameless fangirl stare from Peter. Steve, meanwhile, rolled his eyes and hugged Bucky. “Congrats on the job, Buck,” he said.

“Thanks, man.”

Steve grinned and his blue eyes sparkled with joy when they turned to Darcy, who was watching him with wide eyes and a crooked grin. Steve offered her a hand. “Are you Darcy? I’m Steve.”

Darcy shook his hand, grinning from ear to ear. “Yeah. It’s nice to meet you, Steve. Dare I ask what Bucky told you about me?”

Steve’s smile tilted to resemble Dugan’s cannibal grin. “He told me you’re sweet, you have a body like a Coke bottle, and you tased his ex in the junk. I can already see that the first two are accurate…please tell me it’s all true?”

Darcy burst into laughter along with the rest of the table while Bucky groaned and buried his burning face in his hands. “Damn it, Stevie.”

Darcy laid a reassuring hand on Bucky’s shoulder and, through her laughter, answered, “I am deeply flattered to hear my body described that way and I absolutely tased that asshat. Want to hear about the other awful things I’ve done to him?”

Steve lit up and Bucky saw his life flash before his eyes. Oh God, what had he been thinking introducing them? He looked with wide eyes across the table at Sam, who was laughing so hard he was crying and hissing between sobs, “I knew you guys would get on like a house on fire. Barnes, you are in so far over your head.”

Before Bucky could gather himself and respond to that, Dugan was pounding his fist on the table, that cannibal grin plastered on his face. “Hold up! I want to hear about these other awful things!”

Peter smirked like an imp. “I have a story too when Darcy’s done.”

Bucky shot a look at him and got a smug eyebrow waggle in response. Oh boy. That was the same look he’d gotten in Kandahar when Peter managed to shoot three bad guys in the head with one bullet. Bucky had ended up owing him a hundred bucks and a month’s worth of listening to Peter brag nonstop about it.

The evening was full of recountings of the awful things people had been doing to Brock, sniper stories that got taller as the beer went down faster, and increasingly outlandish descriptions of Peter and Bucky’s new jobs at SI, which by nine o’clock involved space exploration, nuclear physics, and sharks. At some point, Darcy came back from her turn running to the bar for drinks and planted herself on Bucky’s lap, which felt like the most natural thing in the world. Bucky easily held onto his beer in his right hand and looped his left around her, pulling her back against his chest so he could lean his chin on her shoulder and hold her close while they continued to talk and laugh. At one point while everyone else was distracted by the conversation, he squeezed her a little tighter and whispered in her ear, “You really do have a body like a Coke bottle. Holy hell, doll.”

Darcy blushed and giggled, turning to kiss him over her shoulder. Maybe that had meant to be a public-friendly kiss, but it definitely didn’t end up being that and it was their friends hooting and wolf-whistling that reminded Bucky and Darcy that they were in a bar surrounded by people. They only smirked and snuck one more kiss before returning to earth.

This was what being happy felt like. Darcy in his arms, his friends around him, his dog snoozing on the couch at home, things to look forward to with the new job and Dr. Cho’s treatments. Wow…he hadn’t realized just how far down he’d fallen until he was back here and feeling so much better.

That thought brought on a sudden and brutally vivid reminder of the night Darcy found him. All that pain and illness and hopelessness, all that sadness and self-loathing. And it was only the fact that his body had shut down faster than his mind that had kept him from ending it that night on the bridge. If he had, he would never have had this.

Just like that, Bucky felt like he was standing right on the edge of an abyss, had looked in, and had very nearly slipped. His heart thundered and he tightened his arm around Darcy, digging his fingers into her side and burying his face in her hair. 

Darcy went instantly still, immediately recognizing the shift in his mood. She set down her glass, stole his to set it down too before he dropped it, then wound the fingers of her left hand into his to loosen them. Her right hand went to his hair, carding into it and tugging very gently, grounding him in the present. “Hey,” she whispered. “You with me, sweetie?”

Bucky swallowed and it felt like someone had a hand around his throat. Brock, maybe. On a choked exhale, he whispered into her hair, “I almost didn’t have this.”

Darcy immediately twisted in his arms and kissed him hard on the mouth, wrenching him to the present. When his brain was utterly derailed, leaving him floating and confused, Darcy broke away and met his gaze with those wide ocean-blue eyes. “That’s not what happened, though. That part of your life is over. I found you, I brought you home, and I came on to you repeatedly until you felt human again. Remember?”

“I remember.” Bucky swallowed, then shook his head, the despair trickling back. “But the only reason I didn’t jump off that bridge before you found me was that my body gave out before my mind and I couldn’t get myself there.”

Darcy tugged on his hair again, unshed tears sparkling in her eyes and her jaw as hard as marble. When she spoke, her words were harsh but her tone was so soft and gentle, whispered for him alone. “Listen to yourself. Play that backwards in your head right now, Bucky. As shitty as that situation was, your mind kept going past the point when your body literally started to shut down. You could barely move or speak. It was days before you ate what anyone would call a real meal because your insides were so fucked. You’re telling me that even as hopeless as your life was that day, you didn’t give up until after you were _physically incapable of standing on your own._ That’s what you just told me. Do you realize how strong that makes your mind? When I dumped you into my tub, you were barely breathing, Bucky. I could barely feel your pulse and what I could feel was all over the fucking place. I thought for sure I was going to lose you. But you didn’t give up. You wanted your life and you fought for it and you stayed with me and won.” 

Bucky stared at her, processing the words, stunned at the way she saw that. And she wasn’t wrong, really. He’d never been at a lower place in his life than that time he spent homeless, when not even his abuser had a use for him anymore, when no one would even look at him to offer help, when he’d been feeling his body slowly weaken and shut down from the cold and starvation. And he hadn’t wanted to die then. He hadn’t genuinely thought of ending it until after he’d already been immobile in that alley for a day and a half.

Darcy kissed him again, one quick kiss this time, then looked him in the eye once more. “Do you hear what I’m saying? I wouldn’t have made it that long. I know for a fact that piece of shit that put you out there wouldn’t have made it that long. All this good stuff you have now, all of these amazing people, you earned this. You kept going through hell and you fought to get your life back and you won.”

Bucky smoothed his hands up and down her back, feeling those lovely curves that he had come to know better than his own body. He kept his eyes on hers and remembered that first night, when his vision had barely been there and had been tunneled so all he saw was her face, those big blue eyes and those pouty red lips. One corner of his mouth just barely tipped up and he said to her, “I didn’t do it alone, doll. I had an angel to help me.”

Darcy’s body softened in his arms in relief and she smiled so damn sweetly at him. “You flirt. You remember calling me an angel that night? You were kind of out of it.”

Remember? As long as he lived, he’d never forget. Bucky smiled for real and dragged Darcy closer on his lap, pressing every inch of her to him and kissing her like the angel she was, sweet and thorough and lingering. Against her mouth, he said, “Doll, I remember every second of that night and I don’t know how I could ever forget the way you looked or the things you said.” He snorted and felt Darcy’s mouth curl into a grin against his. “I remember when I called you an angel, you said that if you were an angel, you’d at least pretend that you weren’t planning to get off thinking about me before you slept. Did you?”

Darcy groaned and started to laugh softly. “Um…yeah. Quickest orgasm I’d had in a long ass time, too. You make for excellent spank bank material.”

Bucky laughed and kissed her again until they got more catcalls and wolf-whistles and dialed it back.

He didn’t forget what she’d said, though, about him not giving up. He played her words over and over in his head until he had them memorized, until he could pull them out and play them on an imaginary record player in his head the next time he panicked or thought himself weak.

He wasn’t weak. He’d been broken, sure, but a weak man would not have survived what he had. He wasn’t weak and he never had been.

Brock wasn’t done. Bucky knew that better than anyone. He’d been afraid of what would happen the next time he saw Brock, had been nervous about Darcy and Peter and everyone else continuing to humiliate and piss off Brock when he was already angry and volatile.

He wasn’t afraid anymore.

As Bucky took a long sip of his beer, settling in again with Darcy leaned back against his chest, he met Dugan’s eyes across the table. A slow smile crept across Dugan’s face and his eyes sparked as he stared at Bucky for a moment. Finally, he asked, “What’s on your mind, Winter?”

Bucky returned the slow smile. “Not much. Just thinking about what I’m going to be doing at work on Monday.”

Peter’s head snapped to look at him and Bucky met his gaze with that crooked grin that used to make the recruits nervous. Peter grinned like a shark and raised his glass in a toast. “To new rifles: may they kill dickheads in Brooklyn from the comfort of Stark Tower.”

Steve and Clint both went deadly still and exchanged a significant look. “Brock lives in Brooklyn, huh?”

“He certainly does,” Peter said with a wink. “Want to watch him angst about his crappy life through my scope sometime?”

Steve had his phone out to exchange numbers so fast it almost landed in his beer.

Into Bucky’s ear, Darcy whispered, “I really like your murder face. What’s a girl got to do to get the Winter Soldier in her bed?”

Bucky grinned and instantly abandoned his beer on the table. All she had to do was ask. “Thanks for celebrating with us, guys, but Darce and I have a dog to get home to.”

\---------------

After Bucky and Darcy rather obviously headed for home to do everything a couple could do in bed that didn’t involve sleep, Steve set aside his beer in favor of more important matters. “Do you guys have Brock’s contact info?”

Peter immediately pulled it up on his phone and spun the device so Steve could copy it into his, then start keying it into the sign-up form he’d pulled up. “Are we crank-calling him?” Peter asked.

Steve smirked. “Better. We’re having someone else crank-call him.”

Sam quirked an eyebrow and leaned in to look over Steve’s shoulder. When he realized what he was looking at, he busted up laughing. “Oh my god, man! The Church of Scientology?! He’s never going to get rid of them!”

“Exactly.” Steve submitted the request for information with Brock’s full contact information and breathed a satisfied sigh. “Okay. Now I don’t need to go there and murder him tonight.”

Dernier leaned into the group, his face turning serious. “Can we talk about…whatever the hell Sarge and Darcy were talking about?”

Steve ground his teeth, the rage immediately bubbling up again. “They were being pretty quiet, but I heard bits and pieces. He was suicidal when she found him, would have ended it if he was physically capable.”

The group went utterly still. Peter was the first to move, sagging back into his seat with his head in his hands. “I was afraid of that. He didn’t, though, thank fuck.”

“What exactly did this Brock asswipe do to him?” Clint growled.

“He was an emotional abuser,” Peter answered wearily. “Bucky came home from the ‘stan in literal pieces and pushed his family away and that fucker brought him home and filled his head with garbage about how pathetic and useless he was. Eventually, he left him on the street to die.”

“It was physical too,” Steve said through a clenched jaw. “Bucky didn’t tell me much because he knows I have a short fuse, but I waved my hand and he flinched so hard he about gave himself whiplash.” Steve looked up, going still again when he realized just how murderous Dum Dum looked. The guy had been downright jolly all night, but right then he looked like he could rip someone’s arms off and not break a sweat. “You’re not surprised,” Steve said to him.

Dugan ground his teeth and Steve could hear it from the other end of the table. When the big man met Steve’s gaze, his eyes were like shards of ice, sharp and cold. “When we went to the apartment to get his stuff…there was something Rumlow said. We all about came unglued and Sarge held his hand out to stop us as if it wasn’t worth taking on a lone guy with a pocketknife over. That’s when Darcy tased him in the junk and kept tasing him until he’d been passed out and twitching in his own shit for twenty seconds.”

Steve leaned in over the table and found everyone else leaning in with him. Before he could speak, Peter, who looked outwardly as innocent as they came, growled like a wolf, “I had a bead on that prick and I couldn’t hear a word he said over the coms. What the fuck did he say?”

Dugan pushed his half-empty beer away, then leaned in to answer in a low whisper. “I remember the exact words and I will never fucking forget them. I will also never forget the look on Bucky’s face. The fucker said, _You don’t scare me. You’re the same pathetic slut that was crying like a bitch at my feet two weeks ago when I shoved my cock so far down your throat you choked. And when your friends realize that’s all you’re good for, you’ll be right back there again._ ”

Steve clenched his hand around the edge of the table so hard the wood creaked and warped in his fist. It was the only thing that kept him from upending his chair and storming right to Brooklyn. It was Sam who spoke, though, his voice tight with anger Steve hadn’t known Sam was capable of. “You said Bucky put out a hand to stop you. What did his face look like?”

Dugan grabbed his beer back and, knuckles white around the glass, he answered, “He was white as a sheet, like every word was true and he believed all of it.”

While Dugan pounded his beer, Peter mumbled something vicious under his breath and Clint got that dark, calculating look Steve remembered from particularly bad ops. “We’re going to kill him, right?” Clint said coldly. “I volunteer as tribute.”

Steve was right on board with that, but it was Dernier who cut off any agreement, throwing a hand up in the middle of the table to demand attention. He shook his head firmly at Clint. “We’re not killing him. If Sarge gave the order, you’d be sixteenth in line to pull that trigger, Hawkeye, and even then it wouldn’t be right.”

“Wouldn’t be right?” Steve snapped. Sam planted a firm hand on his shoulder that actually stopped him from launching across the table at Dernier. Peter looked like he was in agreement with Steve, boiling over with righteous fury, and Clint looked like he was questioning these new friendships.

Dernier smiled a slow, malicious grin, though. “Wouldn’t be right,” he repeated. “Winter’s gonna kill him.”

“Thought you said Bucky told you no killing?” Sam said, sounding about as put-out as the rest of them.

Dernier looked to Dugan and Peter to either side of them, though, and both of them began to relax into wicked smirks too. “That’s what he said,” Dernier confirmed. “Sarge was never good at giving kill orders, though. He didn’t like blood on his hands more than anyone else over there, lost plenty of sleep over it, but he never let anyone take a shot he could’ve taken for them. And he may have been a ghost a few weeks ago, but he’s not now. I don’t know where that guy we met back then came from or where he went, but that was the goddamn Winter Soldier sitting at this table tonight and nobody fucks with the Winter Soldier and lives to brag about it.”

Dugan chuckled, low and dangerous. He reached across the table and swiped the beer Bucky had abandoned in favor of going home with Darcy. “Bomb-boy-age’s right. That guy who froze on Rumlow’s doorstep isn’t around anymore. You guys remember Winter ever bleeding downrange?”

Dernier shook his head, clearly counting out the injury that had gotten Bucky med-boarded. Peter smirked, obviously knowing where this was going. “I saw him bleed a few times.”

“And?”

“Every enemy who drew his blood died seconds later,” Peter said, sounding deeply proud of his mentor. “Every damn one. Even the bastard who fired that RPG at us and fucked his arm. Winter saw him aiming at us and nailed him between the eyes the same second he fired. Didn’t stop the RPG, but it saved our lives and ended that fucker’s.”

Steve pried his hand off the table and looked at the Howling Commandoes one by one, needing to believe them. “You really think Bucky’s going to kill him?”

Dugan raised Bucky’s beer in a toast, his eyes sparkling with barely-suppressed glee. “To the Winter Soldier.”

Peter raised his glass and echoed the toast with a lethal snicker. “To dead men walking.”

Sam’s eyebrows were just about to his hairline. “I think that’s the best possible outcome to this, but seriously? When I met him, he was terrified of Rumlow and I can tell he’s getting better fast, but really?”

Dernier nodded, raising his glass as well. “ _Absolument_. Even if he wasn’t doing that creepy Winter Soldier grin talking about his new rifle, remember that Rumlow isn’t incapable and Darcy was the one who tased him. He will go after Darcy and if you think he’s going to get within shouting distance of that woman much less close enough to hurt her, you need to hear a few more Winter Soldier stories.”

Steve smiled at that and found himself relaxing and raising his own glass. “That part I definitely buy. To dead men walking.”

Sam and Clint joined the toast and then the group got another pitcher of beer and spent the three hours until bar close trading Winter Soldier stories. They also made a game out of coming up with increasingly hilarious contact lists to sign Brock Rumlow up for, including a druidist commune, a sex addiction helpline, a school in Vegas that taught female strippers to dance, a forum where horse breeders exchanged information about semen of varying qualities, and enough dark web sites to earn a flag from Homeland Security. They took bets on which would be the most crippling to Rumlow’s everyday existence and Steve stuck to his guns with the Scientologists.

One week later, Peter’s friends at SI would use Tony Stark’s back door into Hydra’s mainframe to obtain Rumlow’s phone records and emails. Steve won the pot, but Homeland Security’s call to Alexander Pierce at Hydra earned Clint bragging rights as a close second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Tazi92 for giving Brock's contact info to the Church of Scientology! That one made my day and absolutely had to be included. XD
> 
> Also, after all that plot I think we're about due for some smut........


	19. Pin-Ups and Pink Dildos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sent the Plot on vacation. It called from a tropical island to insist that certain sex positions totally count as plot in a recovery fic and I accepted that suggestion. It promised to catch a return flight in time for the next chapter. ;)

A/N: Hey, guess what? Darcy gets creative in the bedroom this chapter. I pictured her costume being along these lines....

By the time Bucky slammed her against the apartment door and started peeling her coat off, Darcy was dizzy from oxygen deprivation. They’d gotten home in spurts of running interrupted by kissing in alleys and the elevator ride up had very nearly resulted in Darcy orgasming fully-clothed. She definitely did not have enough coordination left to deal with Bucky’s extremely distracting kisses and a very happy Alpine leaning into her hip at the same time. When she couldn’t take it anymore, Darcy laughed into the kiss and tapped on Bucky’s chest. He backed off enough to let them both breathe and Darcy gasped, “Okay…you need to…let your dog out…and I need to…go have an asthma attack.”

“You have asthma?”

“I think I do now.” Darcy grinned at him and reveled a bit in seeing that sinful glint in his eyes up close. “Tell you what…. When you get back up here…I promise to be in bed…wearing less clothes.”

Bucky smiled all sexy and crooked and knocked all of her hard-won focus right off-kilter again. “That sounds fair. Be right back, doll.” He kissed her slow and deep, very clearly a prelude to what was coming later, and Alpine just about knocked her on her ass. Bucky caught her, both of them laughing. “Alright, you big lug, we’re going.” Bucky signed ‘outside’ to Alpine, tapping the thumb of his left fist with his right palm, and Alpine danced over to where his leash hung on the nearest barstool. They’d worried about Alpine’s potential feelings about a harness and a leash, but he’d done great on them the last few days. Bucky even got a tag made with Alpine’s name, Bucky’s phone number, and the bold message ‘DEAF’ and clipped it to Alpine’s harness.

Bucky released Darcy and she shot him a flirty wink as he and Alpine left the apartment. Then, she took a second to catch her breath before she hurried to the bedroom, shucking her coat, shoes, and purse on the way. 

Was she really going to do this? 

Yes. Yes, she was. Tonight would be perfect.

Literally the morning after their smashing success at Brock’s apartment and the phenomenal smut that had followed, Darcy had gotten brave and placed an order through a sexy costume shop. The order had shown up early last week and was everything she could have wanted and more when she tried it on, but she hadn’t been sure it would actually be a good idea to bring it out. Even in the midst of all the incredible sex the last few days, she hadn’t thought the time was right.

But now…

Darcy had thought that Bucky Barnes could not possibly get sexier, but then he’d gone and morphed into the Winter Soldier before her eyes and smiled like a gleeful devil. All that lethal confidence had turned her on so hard her lady parts got whiplash. And what girl wouldn’t be even more turned on by how quickly he’d abandoned his friends to go home with her when she suggested it? He’d been quickly rebuilding his confidence and tonight he had grabbed hold of a whole lot more and Darcy had every intention of rewarding that, especially now that she was certain the Winter Soldier was going to find her recent purchase to be a solid investment.

Darcy smirked to herself as she dug the costume out of the bottom of her underwear drawer and hurriedly stripped and redressed. Technically she would be in less clothes when Bucky returned, but she definitely wouldn’t be naked. As she freshened her Cherry Bomb lipstick and checked her reflection, she grinned. No way was he going to be disappointed to find her in _this._

The apartment door opened and doggy toenails skittered in, followed by human footsteps and a door locking. Darcy swung the bedroom door just barely closed so he wouldn’t see her until he walked in, then hurried to the bed to lay down and pose. She smiled to herself listening to Bucky giving Alpine a treat and talking to him as Alpine apparently got cozy on the couch again. He loved that couch. Bucky’s footsteps approached across the small apartment and Darcy tried to talk down her heart as it hammered against her ribcage. This was a _great_ idea.

Bucky nudged open the door and entered the bedroom, turning naturally to shut the door again without even looking her way. Darcy smirked. “Apparently, my furry chainsaw is sleeping on the couch tonight,” Bucky said. “Lucky us.” Then he turned to face her and froze. Darcy’s grin widened as she had the supreme pleasure of watching his head list to the right and his ice-blue eyes go molten, consumed by his rapidly-swelling pupils. “Holy hell,” he breathed.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Darcy said in her best flirty voice, bringing her hand to her Army cap to salute him. “I was told a fellow called the Winter Soldier has a thing for pin-up girls…am I in the right place?”

Bucky blinked, his eyes raking over her tiny Army pin-up girl costume, complete with red ascot drawing attention to miles of cleavage and fishnet stockings clipped to the red thong just barely covered by her skirt. His mouth curled into a wicked grin and he leaned back against the bedroom door to continue admiring the view. “Well, doll, he sure does have a soft spot for pin-up girls and you check every one of his boxes, but you should know…Winter’s a bit rough around the edges. You sure a pretty dame like you can’t do better than him?”

Darcy grinned and twisted to lay on her belly, stocking-clad ankles crossed above her and chin perched on her hands. Bucky’s eyes instantly dropped to the fantastic view she was deliberately giving him of her cleavage. “Well, Sarge, I heard that the best sniper in the American military is the Winter Soldier and I happen to be looking for a man that skilled with his _weapon_. Maybe you can send Mr. rough-around-the-edges my way?”

Bucky shook his head in disbelief, still grinning like the Devil himself. “Well, doll, I just so happen to _be_ the Winter Soldier.”

Darcy dropped her jaw all innocent-like. “ _You_? The Winter Soldier is a badass _and_ sexy as sin? Hot damn, did I get lucky.”

He snorted and shook his head again, but that grin and that calculating look in his eyes were all Winter Soldier as he stood upright and stalked towards her. “Guess you did, doll. Any chance you want to pass some of that luck around?”

“Oh, don’t worry, Sarge,” she said with that crooked smirk she knew he loved. “You’re going to get _very_ lucky tonight.” Bucky laughed at that, low and quiet in his chest, and Darcy sat back on her knees so he could join her on the bed and kiss her. 

Darcy got lost in the kiss for a hot minute, but then Bucky pulled back to eye her outfit again and she felt him freeze. She found him blushing and very nearly laughing, his eyes on her mouth and lipstick smudged on his own lips. “I’m wearing your lipstick now, aren’t I?” he asked, chuckling.

“Cherry Bomb looks good on you,” Darcy said with a wink. “Want to see what it looks like on that weapon I’ve heard so much about?”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up and Darcy watched the wheels turn on that image for a moment before he nodded. When he spoke, his voice had dropped in pitch and gone a bit choked. “Yeah. Yeah, I would like to see that.”

“ _Awesome_ ,” Darcy said, a giddy grin taking over. Bucky did laugh outright at that and let her maneuver him to lay back against the pillows, propped up just right to watch her as she began wrestling him out of his jeans. “Should I keep the outfit?”

Bucky grinned again and that look went right to her already very-interested lady parts. “For now.”

God, this was the _best_ idea. Darcy winked at him and finished getting him naked from the waist down while he discarded his shirt and got comfortable. He was already half-hard and getting harder, which never failed to make her mouth water. Darcy bent her head and laid barely-there kisses along his sensitive skin, not pressing hard enough to rub off lipstick just yet. When her cap slipped just a bit, she giggled and plucked it off her head, dropping it on Bucky’s instead and earning herself another laugh. Then she bent again and took him into her mouth, sucking hard and slow, covering her teeth with her lips for maximum contact. Bucky groaned at the pressure and when she pulled off, she grinned in triumph at her work. “Mmm…Cherry Bomb _does_ look good on you, Soldier.”

“Holy fuck, Darce,” Bucky groaned, now fully hard and watching her every move with blown-black eyes. Darcy winked at him again and returned to her work, leaving kisses and kitten-licks here, taking him deep and sucking there. It wasn’t long before he couldn’t take anymore and grabbed her by the shoulders to haul her up the bed and kiss her. Darcy giggled and complied, straddling him just right to nestle his length against her soaked panties. Bucky groaned into her mouth and locked both hands on her hips, grinding her against him until they were both shuddering and rocking, frantic for any friction.

Pretty soon it was Darcy who couldn’t take any more. She broke the kiss with a moan and mumbled through lust-fog, “I need you. Am I still keeping the outfit?”

“Mm-hmm,” Bucky mumbled back, curling upward to catch her in another desperate kiss. But then his hands were roving, and he added, “Maybe lose a few buttons, though.”

Darcy snorted at that and undid ‘a few’ buttons, which actually just unbuttoned her top altogether. Bucky made a happy noise into her mouth that made her grin and his left hand found her red lace bra and began toying with her nipple through the material. She whimpered and squirmed at the overwhelming sensation and he just smirked and snaked his free hand under her skirt, which had bunched around her hips when she straddled him. He wasted no time, moving her thong aside and finding her clit like the sniper he was. She cried out into the kiss, which he was somehow still participating in even though she was now too lust-drunk and uncoordinated to do more than accept his kisses and his questing tongue. She barely had a moment to realize that this was starting to look like she’d be on top for this for the first time before he lined himself up and brought her down onto him. That was when all thoughts beyond how good he felt and how much she loved him went right out the window.

Darcy groaned at that incredible stretch, savoring it as she sank fully onto him. Oh _fuck_ that was amazing. Bucky groaned at the same time in ecstasy, but only a moment later one of his hands was stroking her cheek so sweetly and he was saying through the pleasure, “Doll? I’m sorry, Darce, you okay? I should have prepped you for that.”

“Are you kidding?” Darcy mumbled, opening her eyes and grinning down at him. She watched the concern on his face drop away into relief at her expression. “I really appreciate that, sweetie, but I’m sure you could tell that I was _so_ ready for that and that felt _really fucking good_. Maybe it wouldn’t have if it had been a while, but you did just fuck me brain-dead, like, twelve hours ago.”

One corner of Bucky’s mouth curled upward in a smirk, recalling the adventure this morning that had left her sore and late for work. “Fair. If you’re sure you’re okay…you feel so fucking good, doll.”

Darcy rolled her hips, sending his eyes rolling back and his lids dropping shut. “Mmm…I am _very_ okay, Bucky, I promise.” She kept rolling her hips, loving how tightly he filled her, loving getting every inch of him rubbing along her walls. She got the angle just right and began rocking back and forth, stroking his tip along her g-spot. A sound that was more animal than human fell from her lips and then Bucky’s left hand was at her chest again, sending her head lolling on her neck. Holy god, she was _close_. Oh _wow._

Bucky sat up then and kissed her senseless as he thrust up to meet her again and again. Holy _fuck._ “Fuck, you’re gorgeous, doll,” he groaned into her mouth. “So fucking gorgeous…you feel so fucking perfect like this. Holy fuck, beautiful. Lean back on my arm.” He had his right hand on her upper back, his forearm bracing her spine, and she did as he said, instantly putting him in control and changing the angle so he was hitting _all_ her hotspots as he thrust up again and again. And _holy flying FUCK_ did that feel good and she _loved_ that he had that kind of strength to hold her up like this and participate this _thoroughly_ in girl-on-top and _holy fucking SHIT…_

When she came down, Darcy found herself sprawled across Bucky’s chest, somehow horizontal again. He was playing with her hair with one finger but otherwise seemed to be just as liquid as she was. “Oh…my god,” she moaned into his chest. His quiet, self-satisfied laugh rumbled in his chest beneath her cheek and she found the strength to prop her chin on his sternum and get a look at that smug grin. “Fuck, you are sexy post-orgasm,” she mumbled. “You’re also sexy mid-orgasm and pre-orgasm, though.” Bucky laughed a little harder and shook his head, seemingly unwilling to let her nonsense interrupt his efforts to imprint this particular image onto his retinas. He was staring at her so hard with eyes so molten she was seriously contemplating whether he could bring her to orgasm again just by eye-fucking her. “Also, has anyone ever told you that you’re, like, the best power-bottom ever?”

That got him to crack up, grinning wide and laughing out loud at her as she smiled back. “No, doll, I have never been told that,” he finally managed to respond.

“Well, that’s a damn shame because it’s _so_ true,” Darcy insisted, eyes getting big to convey how serious she was about that. It only served to make him laugh harder, which was fine too. “Seriously, Bucky, every guy I’ve ever been with thought that girl-on-top was an excuse to just lay there and watch the show. And as much as I enjoy that option, the sorcery you just pulled was _so_ much better.”

“Sorcery?” Bucky choked out, tears gathering in his eyes he was laughing so hard. Darcy hadn’t known he could laugh himself to tears and vowed to find ways to get him to laugh this hard all the time. “What kind of losers have you been banging, Darce? I like being on top because I _like_ participating. You know, working up a sweat, earning your screams. I don’t want to just lay there and watch.”

“Side note, said screams are maybe one reason it’s not a bad thing that Alpine is deaf,” Darcy pointed out. She immediately regretted the words, but Bucky just nodded in agreement, his eyes large with horror at the thought of that. “Yeah, I feel terrible for saying that and I wish he could hear me tell him what a handsome boy he is, but also, I really don’t want to traumatize him further by convincing him that you’re murdering me in here.”

“That’s totally fair,” Bucky said. He smirked, then, and picked up his head just enough to kiss her forehead. “I really like the outfit…obviously. Where did that come from?”

“I’ve kind of…had it for almost two weeks.” Bucky’s eyes popped and Darcy shrugged sheepishly. “Well, I was feeling optimistic and thought it would be fun, but I didn’t want to try it until I was sure you’d have as much fun with it as me. After the way you looked at me and jumped up from that table tonight, I figured it was a safe bet.”

“Darcy, it was sexy as fuck,” Bucky said, dead serious. “In fact, I’m kicking myself for not looking at you like that and earning that sooner. You don’t have to work tomorrow, do you? You could just stay home and wear that around the apartment, right?”

Darcy dissolved into laughter. When she was able to breathe again, she pulled herself a little further up Bucky’s chest and kissed him on his lipstick-stained mouth. “I love you,” she said between giggles.

“I love you too, doll.”

They kept kissing like that for a long time, until Darcy was very nearly falling asleep on him and had to remind herself to ooze and plaster herself against his side on the bed. She never slept on top of him, not liking the idea of him being a little sleep-confused and feeling pinned. He let her shift onto the mattress, but rolled to keep holding her and kissing her until she could barely so much as move her lips to respond.

Just before she dropped off, Bucky whispered to her, “So…is that a ‘yes?’”

Darcy snorted and found herself smiling again despite her exhaustion. “If I’m wearing it tomorrow, I don’t want to sleep in it.”

Bucky helped her wiggle out of the outfit, then cradled her in his arms until they both fell into a deep sleep. Darcy had a very vivid dream of herself as a nurse and Bucky as an Army sniper somewhere in Europe during WWII. She welcomed him back from a mission with kinky sex against a tank and learned that Steve, Bucky’s commander, was a super soldier called ‘Captain America.’ She woke up on Saturday morning in a fit of giggles and woke Bucky from his own nightmare-less sleep with a kiss.

\-----------

Sitwell and Rollins had made a game out of making sure to visit Rumlow at his desk every morning while the mail was delivered to their floor. Most of the floor was unofficially watching from a distance and several of their coworkers had gotten into the habit of having their phones out and ready to record. Most of Hydra participated in a grouptext that they used to trade photos and videos of Rumlow’s increasingly entertaining deliveries. Sitwell had actually sent the adult diapers himself he was having so much fun watching the fallout of whatever Rumlow had done to royally piss someone off. Mr. I-bronzed-my-accidental-bald-head didn’t suspect Sitwell for a second.

On Monday morning, Rumlow arrived early, probably trying to make up for being late on Friday and acting like a total dick because he’d been pissed about his car being wrecked. The weekend had clearly not been kind to him, though, because he seemed to be on an even shorter fuse than usual and was badly sleep-deprived. At least his hair was now long enough to look like a deliberate buzzcut, though Sitwell found it funny that he hadn’t even tried to maintain the baldness and the claim that it had been intentional.

Sitwell had no idea who the deviant genius was that Rumlow had pissed off, but he really wanted to meet them so he could shake their hand. Rumlow spent Monday morning bitching to him and Rollins that Hydra’s IT department had finally managed to get all his passwords reset, but hadn’t been able to work out how they had seemingly all gotten simultaneously changed, which meant it could happen again at any time. Someone had also signed Rumlow up as requesting information from the Church of Scientology, which had resulted in literally constant phonecalls and emails all weekend, as well as an in-person visit at Rumlow’s apartment from a very pushy and thoroughly unnerving Scientologist. 

It was all Sitwell could do to keep a straight face.

His efforts to conceal his glee were in vain, though. When the blushing and terrified mailroom kid arrived that morning with a giant gift basket, the look of horrified confusion on Rumlow’s face sent Sitwell into a fit of laughter. And then, when Sitwell got a better look at the basket and recognized the cock cage, the oversized hot pink dildo, and the nipple clamps, well…

“Holy shit,” Rollins said, gaping at the basket of sex toys. “That’s a sex toy basket. A _sub_ sex toy basket.”

Rumlow grabbed at a note attached to the basket. Within a moment, he angrily threw the note into the air and stomped away, probably heading to the nearest storage closet to scream his lungs out in impotent rage. Sitwell had caught him doing it last week. Sitwell caught the note and read the brief message.

_I hear you’ve been having trouble getting it up since the last time I saw you, baby boy. Maybe some cute toys and experimenting would help? Love, Cherry Bomb_

Sitwell fell right off Rumlow’s desk he was laughing so hard. There wasn’t the uproar of laughter that had happened the first time Rumlow got a delivery, that would upset Pierce, but Rollins got a great photo of the basket and the note and sent it to the grouptext. Hydra appreciated the entertainment and spent Monday collectively discussing the establishment of an official ‘Cherry Bomb Fanclub.’ Sitwell volunteered to design t-shirts for the club and accepted orders for three dozen by the end of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's karma is brought to you by Vetiver, who suggested that someone send Brock adult diapers, and Soundwave_is_a_good_boy, who pointed out that Darcy's sex toy basket would be even funnier if it was specifically tailored to a sub's taste. Thank you, friends, for your much-appreciated contributions to the Revenge Circle! :D


End file.
